


your love will be safe with me

by jmcats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Famous Liam, First Love, Rimming, young!Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 14:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4832105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcats/pseuds/jmcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It tugs a little at his organs ― how Zayn is still the same.  He doesn’t fancy all those posh things Liam could buy him.  He hasn’t gone about on Twitter, bragging about this </i>thing<i> between them.  He’s spent more hours counting up all the freckles on Liam’s skin rather than asking about Liam’s fame.  </i></p>
<p>(re: There are no rules to falling in love.  Well, maybe just a few.  And Liam wants to be strong enough to break all of them because he's so <i>gone</i> over this boy wonder.)</p>
<p>a sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1704104">twisting to the sun and the moon</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	your love will be safe with me

**Author's Note:**

> A very special thank you to everyone who supported me and encouraged me writing a sequel to "twisting to the sun and the moon." Big love to Noel, Ashley, and especially Joha ― [her post/edit](http://zetsy.tumblr.com/post/93625996528/au-model-liam-payne-was-recently-spotted-ditching) inspired most of this fic.
> 
> WARNING: smut everywhere! Also, I am not fully familiar with the British schooling system so just glance over some of that, okay? I hope I did a good job with tying the last fic and this one together and gave some things closure.
> 
> Title comes from the epic "Re: Stacks" by Bon Iver

 

 

 

“Lads, lads, lads,” Louis says with a smirk that’s mostly corrupt but there’s a hint of unabashed pride at the corners of his mouth when he sidles up to them. He’s got a tray full of his favorite fireball whiskey shots, lit on fire ― tiny blue flames dancing over sharp amber liquid.

Liam raises an eyebrow at him while Harry groans softly in the background.

It’s their last night in Miami, the tour wrapped and the city still pulsing like the heart of a bonfire. Liam’s still a bit buzzed from the last show ― it was rather fucking brilliant, actually. A complete civil war on stage with all of the stupid pranks and water fights and shaving cream that makes Liam feel like a bloody secondary school lad again. All adrenaline and pride buzzing through their blood ― a job well done, boys.

Club Space is sat in the belly of downtown. Some massive warehouse space lit by deep blues and slick reds. Pulsing neon everywhere, the rattle of house music thumping off the brick and concrete. They’ve mostly avoided the scene downstairs, letting the tour crew and their entourage flood the dance floor like children on the last day of school. Even Lou and Caroline have toasted champagne and shuffled about to club tunes like punch-drunk rebels.

But this is where Liam feels alive ― with his lads, renting out the rooftop, tasting the leftover summer breeze even though it’s October. Looking over the edge at a fluorescent city with a sea salt flavor at the back of his throat from the ocean and Niall humming happily next to him.

Louis passes out the shots, the wind knocking his already sweat-damp fringe into his eyes. He’s mouthing _‘one for you and you and two f’r me’_ like a mad scientist and Liam turns a giggle into a cough when his fingers pinch the cool glass.

He offers Louis a crooked grin, Niall laughing like a riot next to him. He’s already buzzing off a few pints earlier, sea-weathered hair lying flat and faded blonde over his head.

Harry’s mumbling rubbish behind them, muttered curses, reaching for his glass. He’s a bit loose from whatever Louis snuck into a flask before they got in, eyeballing the shot with an ample amount of distrust like it might bite him.

“To the close of another sick tour,” Louis chants, lifting his shot.

“To freedom!” Niall crows into the purple night. He tosses an arm around Liam’s shoulders, losing a little balance, laughing manically at it all.

He’s a boy drunk on the thought of recess on the playground, Liam swears.

“Oi, Horan, y’ tired of bunking down with us on the buses already?” Louis scolds.

Harry chuckles, a deep breath of giggles as he swats at Louis’ hip. His lips lift into something wild, this candy pink shade like those overly sweet watermelon shots he’s been knocking back all night.

Niall groans, mopping his sweaty brow across Liam’s shirt. “Just want a proper blowjob, you dolt,” he whines. “A fuckin’ fantastic shag. Waking up with some bird’s perfume on me sheets and her knickers in me laundry ‘stead of you lot snoring.”

Liam snorts, sighing softly into Niall’s ratty hair.

“Are me pants not good enough for washing day?” Louis pouts, trying to look offended but the corners of his mouth twitch up.

The fucking teasing bastard.

“Could’ve sucked you off a few times if you got tired of wanking off, mate,” Harry offers with a wink that’s deliberately charming.

Niall yelps into Liam’s shoulder, going violently red all over.

“Y’know the rules, mate ― “

“ _No shagging on tour_ ,” Harry and Louis moan, in unison, looking so fucking _delighted_ with the harmony of their voices.

Liam giggles into the sleeve of his raglan shirt, feeling the heat of whatever sour cocktails Louis handed him earlier

(Louis could never handle his liquor well ― a right teenager trying to be a frat boy, Liam figures)

finally starting to spike into his system.

“It’s shit being stuck with you three twats for months,” Niall says, exhaling thickly, a mocking tease in his jagged smile.

Harry frowns in this humorous way, a kicked pup with wounded eyes. Liam laughs it off, adjusting the snapback he stole off of Niall’s collection earlier, tipping his cheek into the breeze.

It’s nice, he thinks ― that perpetual scent of sandalwood and metal he associates with the beach.

“Not all bad, yeah?” he wonders, toasting the scene around them.

Niall gives a lazy shrug, looking hopelessly fond for a brief moment.

“Not at all,” he replies, his accent thickening the way it does when he gets a bit soppy.

Liam’s cheeks push at his eyes, crinkling away, trying to shove away this ugly stain of blush riddling his face when Niall leans up a tad just to smack a noisy kiss to Liam’s cheek. Louis reaches between them to twist each of their nipples, a smug smirk pushing at his mouth.

“Still,” Louis sighs, licking at his chapped lips. “It’ll be good to get off with someone other than me hand.”

“To see family,” Harry insists with a hiccup, a dreamy grin.

“And old mates,” Niall tosses in, huffing out the flame on his drink. He knocks it back with a pinched face, a howl ― a wolf cub finding his voice.

“And,” Louis drags out, hanging on the last letter, leering at Liam like they’re all in on something but haven’t shouted it at him yet.

Liam cocks his head sideways, raising an eyebrow at all of their bastardly grins because ―

_Oh_.

“C’mon Payno,” Louis groans, sloshing his whiskey around, licking the dripping alcohol from his fingertips. “You’re not yet that daft, are you?”

Liam grins teasingly, waggling his eyebrows, giving a dopey shrug because he can. Because he’s _earned_ it ― this smug little confidence he can still bury under this expectant personality the world keeps giving him.

“What he’s trying t’say,” Harry drags out, his voice even more honeyed, raw and slow with the liquor surging neon in his system. “That _possibly_ ― “

Niall clears his throat, smiling deliberately loud and wide. “Ya the only one with a missus now, Payno.”

Harry nods happily, like the words he wants to say won’t quite leave his tongue, and Louis only winces briefly in Liam’s peripheral.

It’s still a sour subject for him: how he and El self-destructed. A time bomb that finally hit zero. The constant travel and empty conversations over the phone. Too few texts, too many shouting matches behind hotel doors. The sun and the moon circling each other, Liam thinks.

He’s still a bit gutted over it all, even if Louis seems quite passive over the topic. A fucking blank slate.

Liam sniffs, gives a tight shrug like his shoulders are heavy with the idea. “I wouldn’t say ― ”

“Come off it, Leeymo,” Louis hissing, smiling sharply. He chugs down the shot, gasping, wheezing out, “You’re so _gone_ over that little pup.”

Harry and Niall blink dreamily at him, making a show of puckered lips, wet kissing noises, soft sighs. They’re nothing but bastards, the bloody lot of them.

Liam thinks Simon got it all wrong ― he should’ve went solo.

“You’re all fucked in the head,” Liam counters, but he’s still smiling into his empty shot glass. He’s fully defenseless against these three and he’s stopped being embarrassed about it ages ago.

“And you’re mighty fucked in the heart, bro,” Niall laughs, draining Harry’s shot when he hesitates.

Louis wriggles his eyebrows, snickering. “Like we can’t hear ya filthy Skype sesh’ with the kid every other night,” he teases out, reaching for Liam’s nipple again.

Liam’s quicker, smacking him away. Louis’ reflexes were always shit when he’s on the piss.

“Admit it,” Louis cackles. “Can’t wait to shag ‘im senseless, ’m I right?”

Liam shrugs carelessly, looking away. He waves over a bright-eyed hostess with dark hair and a cherry smile, who’s taken to flirting with Niall between beers. She’s obvious about it, shamelessly, arching her back just enough and touching his shoulder whenever he talks.

Instead of commenting, Liam orders up another round, tipping generously because he knows Niall will sneak off to get her number later and never call. Niall’s never been brilliant at rejection tactics.

Harry knocks an arm around Liam’s shoulders this time, leaning in like he’s barely holding onto a secret.

“Y’ve been bloody noisy in the bunks, too, whenever you and Zayn ― ”

It’s a pause. A bit of a stutter, actually. That hush over your heart when you take a deep breath. Serenity.

It’s the sort of stupid feeling he has when someone ― _anyone_ , honestly, mentions Zayn’s name.

Pretty bloody pathetic, truthfully. It’s a fucking mess.

“ ― have those late night FaceTime calls, mate. He’s got a dirty mouth,” Harry finishes, looking a bit smug and proud at his own pun, even if it was shit.

His jokes always are, but still.

“Haz!” Liam yelps, red-faced, trying to pull away.

Harry drops his arm, shrugging haphazardly while Louis grins like a bloody maniac.

“See, you tosser. Admit it,” Louis demands, biting at his own smile.

Liam smirks, tilting his chin up, crowding together all his bravado in one look. He plucks a fresh drink from the tray the hostess ― _Chloe_ , Liam remembers, because she kept shouting it at Niall over the Drake thumping downstairs earlier ― presents like a proper beauty queen.

Niall smiles weakly back, nodding, saluting her with a wink that bruises sugary blush up her neck.

It rumbles a coughing-laugh from Liam’s chest, forcing him to turn away, take down the overly sweet cherry cola and bourbon cocktail in one swallow. His chest feels lit up, an expanding inferno, but he ignores it and blinks off the thick tears at the corners of his eyes to smile at Harry.

“Piss off, you dicks,” he mumbles.

Their laughter echoes off the next warm gust of wind, carrying this thin wail like wild coyotes in the desert. It warms something else in his chest ― these boys, _his boys_. Mucking around like they’re not worth millions. Laughing like this is still Harry’s bungalow.

Liam excuses himself, clapping Louis and Niall on the back, wiggling free from one of those long, deep hugs Harry fancies giving when he’s buzzed. He tugs a fresh cigarette out of his pack, following Paddy down into the heart of the club. He wriggles Caroline out of some comfy red lounge chair in a corner, giggling as he pulls her all the way to the floor, losing himself to the alcohol and that one Jason Derulo tune.

She laughs in his ear, smacking defenselessly at his chest, tugging him down for a kiss on the cheek.

“Always me favorite, this one,” she shouts over the music and he doesn’t hide his abashed expression before he passes her off to Josh, shuffling out an emergency exit with Paddy in tow.

Out here, under a plump and gold moon, Liam can still feel the music under his boots, the way it ripples in the dirty puddles in the alley. He can taste the leftover sharpness of his drinks and the world looks so empty caught between two buildings.

But he feels calm, huffing through a ciggy.

Watching the bluish smoke curl above his head, Paddy to his left, trying to look unbothered leaning against the bricks.

Liam squeezes his phone between his fingers, his other hand flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. He keeps the filter hanging loose between his lips as he thumbs over his home screen.

That snapshot of four young blokes with a huge dream and a long road ahead of them has been replaced with one lad, dark hair gone flat and soft over his forehead, curled around a pillow while kipping on a sofa.

Thick eyelashes heavy on his cheeks. Still enough baby fat in his cheeks to be considered innocent, some of it fading off his jaw. Even in the grainy shot, his skin is pale bronze.

Liam smirks shamefully down at the picture, even though no one’s watching him. Not even Paddy. But something expands in his bloodstream and he keeps considering time zones. It’s not even ten in London, yet. Too early. Zayn’s not awake, he muses, still smiling.

He absolutely hates the lads because ―

Yeah, he is a bit gone over this boy. And, fine, maybe he’s just as anxious as his boys for home and its comforts. His own bed. His Batman mug on the kitchen counter. All the little things they keep having to leave behind.

He sucks down another breath of smoke, locking his phone, stuffing it into his jeans. His next exhale feels heavier, tipping his head back to blow it at the moon.

It gets this way sometimes ― being homesick or just wanting to run away. Be someone else. Forget whoever the fuck _Liam Payne from One Direction_ is because he remembers Liam Payne from Wolverhampton.

A small town bloke singing at banquet halls. In living rooms. Just a brat of a boy stumbling after a dream.

And, sometimes, in his bunk at night, he thinks about being just some normal bloke with a boyfriend and university and walking Zayn around campus without the world glaring at them ―

The hand holding the cigarette loosely between his fingers starts to shake. Like always. Little twitches in his breathing and the space between two buildings suddenly too small, confining.

“Ready?” Paddy asks like he can read all of Liam’s signs.

All of those neon signals that he’s thinking too much, all the carefreeness of a good smoke and a bright night overwhelming him.

Liam gives a short nod, licking out a small smile.

“Be a bit forward of me to say I was ready months ago, mate?” he wonders, not really looking at Paddy.

“Not at all,” Paddy replies, after a beat, clapping a hand down around Liam’s shoulder. “You’ve done good, Payne. Time for a break.”

“Break,” Liam repeats, trying to smile around the word like it’s foreign. He hasn’t known what it means for four years now.

He crushes his cigarette under the toe of his boot and watches the moon for a minute longer. It relaxes him. When his muscles finally start to feel loose again, he sighs out happily ―

“Time for a break.”

 

++

 

**@Real_Liam_Payne:** _‘Just a week till home time can’t wait to see my favourite person in the world’_

 

++

 

Liam and Zayn aren’t exactly a _thing_ yet. Not to the world. Not to the media. Or even his fans.

Not after his birthday party, a few months earlier, where Paddy escorted Zayn out a back exit of the restaurant before anyone knew who he was. Before they could figure it all out because Liam was blissfully drunk, ready to show Zayn off for the cameras.

But not yet. Not without a clear head, first.

They’re a nothing after that weekend holiday in Paris, between the lull of tour dates and just before Zayn’s last year of secondary school started up.

After Zayn, nervous and humorously shy, met Liam’s family in Wolverhampton for the first time.

They’re not even a blip. An absolute enigma to the world. Nonexistent, honestly. Liam’s name barely makes it into any of the headlines on the papers without Harry or Louis or Niall’s name attached and Zayn is _just a boy_ ―

Because management thought it best. Because Simon insisted. Because Zayn is fucking _seventeen_ and a bloke and Liam is hyperaware there’s an image to protect. A bloody brand made of shit merchandise and cheesy photoshoots and a fluff-for-the-cameras persona they’ve been trying to shed for ages now.

But Liam craves protecting one thing: the band. His boys.

A future he worked so incredibly hard for. A career and, above it all, a bit of privacy for Zayn, too.

The chance for Zayn to be the kind of lad Liam passed up on ― a _normal_ one.

And Zayn gets it. He doesn’t complain one bit. Not a word about it. He understands it all.

At least, Liam would like to think he does.

They don’t chat about it. It feels easier that way ― just the long phone calls on the road, the back and forth texts, Liam catching flights back home whenever he can ― but it’s a bit like having a dirty secret.

It fucks with Liam’s thoughts, gets him wound up over it. Keeping Zayn to himself. Hiding it all. Like having an alter-ego and he’s not quite sure if he’s Superman or just Clark Kent when the world looks at him.

He votes off thinking most days. That’s easier, too. Finding other things to bury himself in, like his music or creating club beats or just a rowdy game of FIFA with Niall on the bus, until he doesn’t feel so closed in.

Until he can ring Zayn up at a decent hour, smiling the whole way through some drowsy conversation about nothing at all, just the two of them breathing along the line because their silence is just as comfortable. It’s easy and simple.

It’s then, when he’s thoughtless and content, he doesn’t mind keeping Zayn to himself. A warm feeling under his skin that no one else can see.

Sometimes, he thinks he needs that feeling more than letting the world in on this secret.

 

++

 

The van ride to the airport is fairly quiet, like they’re all still too bruised up from partying to speak. Or have manners. Or pretend they’re not all a bit moody over flight times and hangovers.

Instead of their usual banter, there’s soft snoring and quiet humming from Niall and the wheels dragging over the motorway filling the gaps where their voices usually are.

The sky is still apricot and purple, the first thin streaks of light hiding under a pile of charcoal clouds because it’s too bloody _early_ , even for the sun.

Liam has his headphones tugged on, unconsciously biting over his lip, nodding his head to the spill of _‘don’t care what your friends say cause they don’t know me’_ in his ears. He keeps watching the clouds, Louis’ head snug against his shoulder, a tiny ball of himself curled on the seat.

A grin twitches over Liam’s lips because ―

It feels like the first time the four of them have been stuffed into one van, like when they first started out. No security; just four sleepy lads. Before they had enough pounds to afford a decent wardrobe or anything other than Tesco’s and McDonald’s in the morning.

Just the lads and him, Paul too. Massive dreams and empty pockets.

He’s slouched down in the backseat, wedged between Louis and Niall, Harry sprawled out in the seat in front of them. His laptop is tucked across his thighs, fingers clicking through a few tabs. He’s been studying words he doesn’t think he’ll ever pronounce properly most of the drive. At least, not without help. But he keeps rounding his lips around the letters, softly mouthing out the words.

The van jolts over a small bump. It jostles them, Louis mumbling profanity and Harry giggling in his scratched up sleep voice. A solar flare of roughed up neon blonde blurs into his vision ― _Niall_. Crooked, curious smile and day-bright blue eyes examining Liam, the glow of his laptop screen.

Slowly, Liam tugs down his headphones, sharp teeth gnawing a corner of his lip.

“What’s Ur ― um, _that word_ ,” Niall wonders, jabbing at a word on the screen.

Liam sniffs. It’s a rank stiffness in the van, the scent of sweat-warm lads and grossly tart alcohol leaking out of their pores. He licks at his lips, trying to steady the nerves in his voice when he replies, “Urdu. S’called Urdu, mate.”

He’s certain the freckled blush in his cheeks gives him away.

Niall mouths the word over and over, trying to force it out like blowing a bubble in chewing gum.

“It’s a language,” Harry notes, cheerfully. He’s far too bright and alert for a bloke who stumbled in at half three this morning, fresh pink love bites all over his milky collarbones.

Liam dips further down in his seat, knocking Louis out of place. He wraps fingers around Louis’ wrist apologetically before Louis can go gruff and rude next to him.

“Actually,” Harry adds, waving a hand around, “it’s the national language of Pakistan, which would mean ― “

Liam moans out his embarrassment before Harry can finish.

Honestly, he hates how many silly pop culture facts Harry has learned from years of Scrabble and spending hours on Google.

“Oi, quiet you. ‘m knackered,” Louis complains, snuffling his face further into the soft cotton of Liam’s shirt.

He’s petulant and needy ― the same Louis he’s been since Leeds and cuddling up to Harry every single night afterwards.

“S’called a hangover,” Harry corrects, stretching in the seat like a cat, all of his joints cracking and snapping like wood in a fire. He sits up, shoots Louis a cheeky smile.

Determinedly, Louis keeps his eyes shut and blindly flips Harry off. He mumbles a mouthful of profanity that does little more than make Harry grin just a tad fonder at him.

“Y’know, if you’d just try my fruit juice cleanse ― “

“Fuck right off, Styles,” Louis smirks, leaning deeper into Liam. “It’s shit. Horrible. And _you_ could try fitting me willy in your throat later, alright?”

“For protein?” Harry wonders, a tease in his voice.

Louis sighs contently, nodding.

“Lads, lads,” Niall huffs, looking fidgety. Always the first to be annoyed by this wave of something between Harry and Louis.

It never really burnt out, even after years of stupid banter and a handful of _‘so close but not yet,’_ it’s still so amusing to watch, Liam thinks.

Niall’s lips flex upward, the irritation draining from his face. “Shouldn’t we be chatting about our dear Payno studying a new language for his boyfr― “

Liam scowls at Niall. “I’m just ― “

“Learning new words to shout in the bedroom?” Harry wonders.

Liam whacks that strip of bare skin showing through Harry’s skinnies at his knee. On principle. Or pure aggravation. It doesn’t matter which. They’re both brilliant reasoning, he decides.

“C’mon now, boys,” Louis smiles, looking far too ruthless and awake now. He finally sits up, curling an arm around Liam’s stiff shoulders like he’s meant to be protective rather than irritating.

It’s an utter diversion because the width of Louis’ smirk gives him away. It nearly always does.

“Having a laugh at me Tommo?” Liam challenges, his brow crumbling.

Louis shakes his head but a laugh sputters out and he looks well breathless trying to school his features soft again.

“It’s quite adorable,” he manages, through fits and stutters, “The puppy is making you a bit cultured. A proper man of civilization. A regular James Bond.”

Niall leans forward, raising an eyebrow. “That was a shite analogy, mate.”

Harry applauds his word choice while Louis flips him off.

Liam, under all the embarrassment, feels a smile pull at his lips ― useless morning banter, like always.

He sighs, lowering his brow. “I’m just,” he pauses, gives a reckless shrug, feeling wound up with all of their eyes on him. He bounces his knee, knocking around his laptop. “Thought it’d be ace, ‘s all. Learning a bit about his life and stuff. Not trying to be, like. Dunno.”

“Romantic?” Harry offers.

“A bloody decent boyfriend?” Niall suggests. He scrunches a hand through his wrecked hair, looking thoughtful.

Liam bites over his lip, wrinkling his nose.

“ _Those_ ,” he admits, waving a hand about, trying to find words that don’t make him seems so daft. “Don’t want to muck it up like I did with, well. With Dani, I s’pose.”

There’s a loaded and uncomfortable hush that seeps into the van. Like he’s said too much.

Like they’re all still a bit nervous about bringing it up, talking it out. Still avoiding the topic because it’s a bit too taboo or heavy, even if it’s been well over a year, alright?

He doesn’t need a cuddle over it anymore. He doesn’t hole away in his hotel room, ignoring everyone, blinking off thick tears while everyone is looking away.

Liam has inked his skin, buzzed off his hair, fucked about; he’s _matured_ , okay?

He is fine.

It’s over.

“He means that much, eh?” Louis wonders, looking skeptical.

Liam shrugs absently, giving a quick, stiff nod. He feels it buzzing all down his skin and the flush keeps getting warmer.

There’s another wafting hush, like the way the beach sounds at night. It makes Liam twitch until he blinks around at three identically wide smiles. A hum of approving grunts in the van, like dotting brothers.

(Liam’s never had this before them ― _someone looking after him_. Not outside of his family, maybe Andy. Not like these three lads.)

“Alright,” Louis says after a deep breath. He leans his head onto the window, batting his eyes shut again. “Enough of that. I’m well knackered and need a kip before the flight.”

Niall hooks an arm around Liam’s shoulders, looking absolutely chuffed.

“Um, Lou,” Harry mumbles. “We’re here.”

“Fuck.”

 

++

 

Liam always misses home. The plush feel of his duvet across his naked skin. The heady scent of used tea bags on the kitchen counter. The cold floor beneath his bare feet whenever he walks into the ensuite. That cozy feeling that wraps around you when you’ve been away too long.

He hasn’t spent much time here ― this oversized mansion in Surrey, sat on a chunk of land out of view and lush enough to feel like his money was well spent.

His first home. Something that’s all _his_.

It’s only been a few days here and there while on tour, his mum decorating most of the rooms, coordinating with Caroline for designs. His sisters looking after Loki. Most of the furniture still so new and unused.

Still, it’s all so big and foreign to him ―

how the sunlight turns the kitchen a champagne color in the morning and the view of the underwater lighting in the pool, neon blue and clear, at night

― but it tastes so much like home.

Like he’s finally grown out of those daft bunny curtains and the broken wooden fence back in Wolverhampton.

This huge escape built just for him.

In the evening, when the sun is just a candy red marble against the horizon, Liam tugs on an old and worn-soft jumper, his head getting caught in the collar. He laughs at himself, dragging his feet over the new carpet for the feel of it when he spots Paddy lingering in the foyer ―

It’s still early October, giving the house that scent of crimson leaves and pine, like Paddy’s forgotten to shut the front door.

Liam quirks an eyebrow, hugging himself. “Gotten into something, have you?”

Paddy’s lips are loose with his smile. He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Might’ve,” he replies. “Snatched up a stray while picking up a few items at Selfridge’s.”

Loki’s barking something awfully happy outside but Liam ignores it. He slides his tongue over his lips, cocking his head like he’s uncertain.

Paddy looks roguish, the way Louis always does when he’s planning a prank. Horribly smug and natural wrinkles around his eyes deepening when he smirks.

“This is gonna set me back a few pounds, innit?” Liam asks, still tentative about Paddy’s expression.

Paddy barks a laugh, jerking his head towards the front door. It’s open, letting in a draft. “C’mon Payno, get off it and haul yer arse outside.”

Liam swallows roughly but toes on a pair of boots in the hall, wary.

“Patrick, I swear ― ”

“Quit being daft,” Paddy exhales, his smile stretching, a large and warm hand cupping the nape of Liam’s neck to tug him along.

It feels nice there, the way his father’s hand usually does when he gives Liam a chat, leading with a smile.

Even against the spill of grey and purple in the sky, Liam thinks this is a sight he’d never want to miss ―

A boy dragging the wheels of his skateboard across the gravel drive. Trying a kickflip and nearly tripping over. He nails a sick Ollie instead, hopping off the board before it gives out.

_Zayn_.

It’s unhealthy, the size of Liam’s grin when he gets a proper look at him under one of those expensive floodlights from the side of the house.

In his beat-up letterman jacket, faded leather on the sleeves. Shredded jeans, denim ripped out at the knees. A knit beanie tugged tightly over his head, bits of dark bed-hair and fringe peeking out the front.

A true savagely fit lad who looks wholly at home in his favorite kit, Liam thinks.

It tugs a little at his organs ― how Zayn is still the same. He doesn’t fancy all those posh things Liam could buy him. He hasn’t gone about on Twitter, bragging about this _thing_ between them. He’s spent more hours counting up all the freckles on Liam’s skin rather than asking about Liam’s fame. Or One Direction.

He’s just some boy ― just Zayn.

His skateboard wobbles behind him up the drive. His trainers scuff along the gravel, fingertips smeared silver from charcoal, no doubt. A crookedly nervous smile lifting his lips when he looks at Liam ―

(Like he’s anxious. Like there’s stars blooming under his skin. Uncontrollable heartbeats and uneven blush across his skin.)

“Hi,” Liam says, feeling like a right sixteen year old.

Awful chat-up lines and dodgy haircuts and ―

Shit. How does Zayn strip off all of Liam’s put upon leather jacket coolness without even trying?

“Hey,” Zayn half-laughs, biting his lower lip. Cherry red and a little chapped from the dewy cold outside.

Liam tilts his head to get another good look at him. The evening and harshness of October refuses to wash him pale or dull. Liam likes that.

And all of this reminds Liam of that one 1975 tune he thinks is pretty wicked ―

The late autumn breeze, a lavender and suddenly tangerine sky, Zayn dragging his feet on the drive with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

This vulnerable bind around Liam’s stomach.

The way they can’t look away from each other ― which is absurdly daft but true. Honestly, he refuses to dwell too long on that fact.

It’s just an _‘all we needs my bike and your enormous house’_ and Liam’s been a bit done with all of his rules for months now. For ages now.

He shuffles down the drive, feeling _impulsive_ (simply mad over it all), meets Zayn halfway without losing a breath. He fists his hands into Zayn’s collar and leads him closer.

From every angle of a dying sun, Zayn looks beautiful. A bit taller, Liam still having to lean down into him to find a proper height but he doesn’t mind. Zayn still smells like autumn ― ripe red apples and hazelnut and those early Halloween pumpkins sat on a porch. Like gold and copper leaves. Heavy knit jumpers.

Liam’s lips quirk and he feels lightheaded when they inch a little closer.

“First thought?” he asks, grinning when they’re foreheads knock together.

Zayn’s cold fingertips graze under the hem of Liam’s jumper. Liam knows there’s smeared silver fingerprints on his skin now but he doesn’t think about it.

He watches Zayn look up through those long, shadowy eyelashes. Zayn whispers, “I missed you?”

“Bullshit,” Liam snickers.

There’s goosebumps up his sides, spreading like an epidemic across his belly and ribs but he doesn’t mind.

He doesn’t give an absolute shit about it all. Instead, his eyes drag over the way Zayn tucks his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking softly, pushing it back out ― red like the inside of a sweet plum now.

“I wanna watch _the Winter Solider_ again?” Zayn offers, snorting.

“S’more like it,” Liam laughs.

It’s a little natural, still a bit awkward, how he cranes down to the proper angle. How Zayn steps on his toes to knock a kiss over Liam’s mouth. The way they both exhale like this is better. Much better.

Zayn is a little more confident now ― his kisses not as raw or predictable. Focused. Losing some of that chaste uncertainty. There’s a little more pressure when his teeth nip along Liam’s lower lip. A moan broken in half, almost a growl when Liam flicks his tongue to the seam of Zayn’s lips like a tease. A quick inhale like they’re both shocked by the flavor of Liam’s tongue along Zayn’s bottom teeth.

Liam pulls back just enough, vision blurred, to watch blush seep into Zayn’s cheeks. “This is offensive,” he half-mumbles, tugging gently at Zayn’s beanie. “Can’t get a proper grip.”

Zayn snorts, pushing up to suck on Liam’s lower lip. It feels fat and swollen, throbbing when he pulls off.

“Could later,” Zayn mocks. His eyelashes fan over his cheeks while he stares down at Liam’s mouth. “Been dying to suck you off and ― “

“Oi, this better not be just a bit of banter, boy wonder,” Liam smiles, curling his fingers over the nape of Zayn’s neck.

He studies the way Zayn’s skin instantly flushes darker at the nickname.

Helpless, Liam muses.

All of Zayn’s muscles relaxing, this softness around his mouth, his body going loose and pliant at the tone of Liam’s voice.

Liam sneaks another kiss off Zayn’s lips, scratching fingers under the beanie to feel the texture of Zayn’s hair.

“Later,” he agrees, keeping his hand warm on Zayn’s neck, half-turning back towards the house. He keeps Zayn tucked under his arm, twilight falling all around them like a heavy duvet. “Haven’t given you a proper tour since I moved in, have I?”

“Nope,” Zayn hums, exaggerating the word with a smirk. “It’s ‘cause you’re a shit person. Absolute rubbish at being a proper host, man.”

“Shut it,” Liam says with a crooked smirk.

They fall into step together up the drive, kicking at the gravel, Zayn relaxing so easily under the weight of Liam’s arm. It feels nice ― how quickly he curls into Liam.

Not at all like he’s clingy. Like it’s a necessity.

Just another rule between them ― no, an _exception_ that Liam thinks he’ll hold onto.

 

++

 

“This is quite sick,” Zayn says, his voice awed, this half-bitten grin on his lips.

Liam licks at his own smile under the bright exterior lights of the house. There’s an edge to the night, that right hint of chill and an earthy scent to everything. He’s tugged on an old Wolverhampton hoodie, fluffy and oversized. He leans against the sleek surface of his Range Rover, watching Zayn.

Long, nimble fingers squeak as they brush over the slick black paint of his Lamborghini ―

Out of all the features around his house (his replica of Iron Man’s armor, the massive tub in the ensuite, the theater room, the huge swimming pool in the back) he’s not expecting this.

The crookedly chuffed smile and those wide eyes and the way Zayn keeps stumbling around the car, humming appreciatively.

“S’nothing, really ― “

“You’re Batman,” Zayn exhales, clenching this cheerful noise at the back of his throat.

Liam giggles, shrugging.

Alright, he might’ve tossed in a few thousand pounds more at the dealership.

He wanted something wicked. Something his own. Something that looks a lot like the Batmobile.

But the drag of Zayn’s fingers over the doors, across the top reminds him that he might’ve wanted to impress a few people too.

(He’s not ashamed to admit that, either. He owes himself that much.)

“Not that much, if I’m being honest,” Liam says, nonchalantly. It’s all _casual-as-fuck cool_ he’s earned, or adopted from Zayn. He’s not sure.

“You’re _mental_ ,” Zayn scoffs. “It’s Batman’s car, babe. Like. It’s wicked.”

Liam feels the deep indents in his forehead when he lifts his eyebrows, lips sliding crookedly into a smile.

He’s not smug but ― yeah, it’s proper sick. He thinks, probably, it’s the effect he was looking for.

Liam pushes off the Range and eases the small distance between them. He crowds up to Zayn’s back, snuffling his nose behind Zayn’s ear, crossing his arms around Zayn’s flat tummy. He feels Zayn unwind a bit in his arms and, this too ― it’s probably the effect he was going for, also.

“It’s all a bit of flash, innit?” Liam grins. His lips dip under Zayn’s collar, prickling on the buzzed hair near the nape of Zayn’s neck.

Zayn barely flinches, like he’s grown comfortable. All of the tension flees his limbs, this nervy boy slowly becoming something else. He leans back into Liam, pressing his arse neatly to Liam’s fattening cock.

“Still sick, man,” Zayn sighs, beaming.

“Could let you drive it one day,” Liam offers, watching something anxious split Zayn’s smile in his peripheral. “When you’ve properly passed your practical and stuff, y’know?” he adds teasingly, watching Zayn’s smile shift a tad lower.

His fingers scratch at Zayn’s belly, hips grinding halfheartedly, dragging his dick along Zayn’s bum.

Zayn tips his head back, snorting. “Got me arse on your mind or summat?” he asks, smugly.

“Possibly,” Liam sighs, tugging the want out of his voice.

“You could,” Zayn says, his voice registering deeper, thickening like honey, “take me here, babe. Against the car. Bend me over and ― um, like. Bet I’d have an incredible wank while you ― “

Liam hisses over the shell of Zayn’s ear. He’s not thinking, not entirely, when his hands find the grooves of Zayn’s narrow waist and he spins him. He uses his momentum and shoves Zayn to the cold surface of the car, crowding into his space. He uses his hips to pin Zayn’s and his eyes drag over Zayn’s expression.

He watches for those little flicks in Zayn’s appearance, the twitches that give him away. How eager he is for it. Sharp teeth leaving indents in his lower lip as he bites. Roaming eyes like he’s never too sure where to look. Flush, deep and lush, blemishing his cheeks.

Cold hands roam up Liam’s waist and ―

He’s so _responsive_ but it’s that hint of nerves in the way Zayn’s teeth tug his lower lip into his mouth that reminds Liam of that anxious boy inside a posh hotel room ― letting Liam teach him how to be confident.

“I could just ― ”

Liam breathes out something rough because, yeah, he _could_.

His chilled fingers grab Zayn’s chin, knock it up to the proper angle, eyes leveling at the same time.

“Is it too soon t’ tell you I’ve missed you?” he wonders.

He deliberately keeps the sentiment in his voice until Zayn finally laughs. He unravels so brilliantly.

Liam presses a kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth to feel the vibration of his giggle, nipping all the way into a kiss that’s soft. It feels familiar.

(He wonders how attached he can get to it before he remembers this is only while he’s here, away from the public. He hates thinking, being overwhelmed, morally conflicted. Thinking is an awful hobby, he swears.)

He sighs against Zayn’s lips, mouth already quirking into a smile as he fists his hands into Zayn’s jacket, tugging him towards the front door and out of the cold.

 

++

 

“Ah.”

Zayn’s lower lip barely flinches from the tight pull his teeth have around it. His brow furrows in deep waves, like he’s concentrating, like he’s awed.

And maybe it’s a bit of magic (no matter how _daft_ that seems) because Liam thinks he might feel the same way.

All the sheets pushed aside, the duvet lumped somewhere on the floor, pillows scattered like the scene of a car wreck on the motorway. Zayn’s knees bracket Liam’s hips and there’s tension pulsing in his thighs. Sat in Liam’s lap, hands braced flat on either side of Liam’s head as he lifts and eases back down on Liam’s dick.

“Ah, shit.”

He studies Zayn’s breathing (fast, ragged, heavy grunts echoing in his ears) before flattening his feet to the bed, bending his knees. For balance, for momentum.

It’s a sick combination of push and pull ― Zayn doing most of the work but, every few breaths, Liam jerks his hips up to fuck into Zayn.

If Liam’s being honest, it’s all so mental. He’s bloody fascinated with how tight Zayn is. A soft clutch around the tip of his cock. There’s this sweet caramel taste at the back of Liam’s throat (not from sucking wetly on Zayn’s cock while he stretched him earlier, not from the constant leak of precome over his tongue) that he swallows around while Zayn clenches around Liam’s dick each time he goes deep.

_Deeper_ , his cock giving a pleading jerk when he slides completely in.

“Shit,” Zayn repeats, lower, eyes fluttering shut like he’s overwhelmed.

Long lashes beating like a bee’s wings on his cheeks, fingers pulling at the linen under Liam’s head.

“Good?” Liam wonders, licking at a smile Zayn can’t see.

Zayn gives a small nod, bowing his head, flat hair sweaty and sticking to his damp brow.

Liam gives a tiny rock of his hips, just to be sure, watching Zayn unfold a little more in his lap. His dick gives a pathetic twitch over Liam’s belly, well hard and dark, the tip shiny like slick raindrops smeared on glass.

“So deep, man,” Zayn gasps, his voice stretched and thin.

Liam swallows. His hands smooth along Zayn’s hips, giving him an anchor, a way out if he’s too knackered to keep riding Liam.

It’s useless, really. Zayn lifts himself onto his knees, shuddering back down, over and over. His breaths tight and short in his chest, bottom lip almost bloody between his teeth now.

A lube-sticky hand finds Liam’s shoulder and a crooked grin knocks over Liam’s lips. He sighs gently, thinking of how Zayn wanted to open himself up with his own fingers, the soft arch of his spine as he tried to find the right angle while lying back on the bed. Knees cocked apart and thighs spread and that puckering hole teasing Liam.

His tongue flicks over his lips and his hips give another jerk, just for the ache in Zayn’s voice.

They’re out of practice ― too many weeks doing this over Skype or by mobile or just filthy little text messages. It’s clumsy and nothing’s timed properly. Clumsy, all things considered. Liam keeps slipping out of Zayn’s hole when he gives a rather enthusiastic thrust or when Zayn gets a bit too eager, popping off of Liam’s dick when the sensations turn into a high.

“Fuck,” Zayn grunts.

Liam hums to keep a laugh in his chest, watching Zayn scoot back into position.

“C’mon now,” he grins, stretching awkwardly to reach behind Zayn.

His fingers are still slick, scooping up lube that’s leaked out of Zayn, shoving two back in without any resistance. He loves the way Zayn yelps and falls forward, almost running from the feel of Liam’s knuckles stretching him.

“S’good, yeah?” Liam wonders.

Zayn cocks his head, wet lips parting but there’s just breathless noises. Never words.

(Liam loves _that_ too, actually.)

“Fuck back on ‘em, love,” he teases, biting the tip of his tongue. His cock flinches in the condom when Zayn does, rolling his hips deliberately slow like he’s gone off just Liam’s fingers.

Or the honeyed drag of Liam’s voice.

It doesn’t matter much, Liam thinks, pushing a third finger into Zayn when he’s starting to relax.

“Ready for me cock?”

Zayn huffs, nodding. His knees shake, all this coil-tight strain in his trembling thighs. His teeth pull at his lip again and Liam can’t help himself, soothing a hand over Zayn’s thigh. He keeps it there, pulling his fingers free, lying back on the bed while Zayn eases back down onto his cock.

The pressure is quite incredible ― the wet squelch of the lube, the soft pop, the puff of breath Zayn lets out of his lungs when he’s seated again.

Liam’s lips lift into a smile when Zayn flutters his eyes open, keeping them small and squinted. “Good?” he asks, curving his hand around Zayn’s arse, up to that smooth bow where his spine is arched. “Good for me?”

Zayn sighs, pouting petulantly. He doesn’t need the pacification. But Liam likes that speckle of blush in his cheeks before he gives a short nod.

Liam settles into a rhythm this time, letting Zayn feel every slide of his dick along his muscles. His toes curl into the linen, like Zayn’s gone tighter. Like his prick has gotten fatter on Liam’s belly, slicker, his breaths thinner.

The bedroom smells of musk, that boyish fragrance all over Zayn’s skin (apples, copper leaves, warm spices), and sweat. _Sex_. Nothing like a stale bus loaded with dirty socks and gross laddish scents, and takeaway pizza boxes.

(Fuck, he’s missed this, too ― how home smells like clean detergent and his cologne and _Zayn_ )

Zayn loses balance, catching himself with one hand to the mattress, jostled by Liam’s thrusts. Liam uses all of it to his advantage ― straining the muscles in his stomach (all of those awful morning cardio sessions with Mark finally being of use) to lift up. He bites a mark (red, turning a stark bluish-purple instantly) into Zayn’s collar, opposite the Arabic ink.

There’s a fresh tattoo covering Zayn’s Chinese symbol along his abs that Liam keeps thinking about sucking on but ― much, much later, he muses.

Liam hums around the bone, kissing the mark apologetically. “So quiet,” he mumbles, pulling Zayn down onto his cock.

Zayn gasps but, even in the echo, it sounds ghostly. Almost not even there.

“Alright?” Liam asks.

Another harmless noise slips past Zayn’s swollen lips. He keeps his eyes shut, his jaw tense like he’s terrified something might escape.

“C’mon, now, don’t be ― “

“Paddy,” Zayn whimpers, turning his face to the side, blinking at the door. Immediately, his teeth clutch his lower lip. “Might hear or summat. Be quite rude, don’t ya think?”

Liam snorts, shaking his head. Out of instinct (or retaliation), he gives a proper thrust into Zayn, knocking him to his elbows.

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn whines, still closing his throat around every letter.

It draws up a smirk on Liam’s lips, the corners of his mouth soft, amused. His fingers drag up Zayn’s spine, slipping in the sweaty pools, massaging over every muscle he can find.

“Pretty sure he knows we’re gonna shag, babe,” Liam says. Zayn jerks his head in Liam’s direction, a meaningless scowl on his face. Liam shrugs, laughing, “You’ve not yet figured out people know we fuck, yeah?”

Zayn flushes, sighing. “Not everyone.”

“Yeah, well,” Liam hums, keeping Zayn sat in his lap, twisting his hips gently to keep burying himself in Zayn. “S’not somethin’ I hide from me security.”

Zayn huffs but it turns into something sharp, unexpected when Liam manages a hand between them to slowly wank Zayn off. His spare hand grabs Zayn’s hip, dragging him up and down Liam’s throbbing cock.

“You’re insufferable,” Zayn pouts but he goes so willingly with Liam’s rhythm.

Up and down, a rise and fall that feels like trying to breath after nearly drowning. After running a race. Heavy and loud breaths echoing over the walls.

He’s nudging all on Zayn’s spot, purposely. Keeping deep, fondly enjoying the way Zayn’s hole keeps going liquid warm and tight around the base of his dick.

Zayn bites viciously on his lip. “Stop or I might ― ”

Liam ignores him, with a smile, with a stupid little kiss to the tip of Zayn’s nose. He feels Zayn shaking, getting overwhelmed. His fingers tighten around the base of Zayn’s cock, his thumb rubbing incessantly under the head ― that soft spot that Zayn avoids when he’s having a wank for Liam.

Because they both know how _sensitive_ it is, how Zayn’s toes curl and his throat bobs like he’s gulping for air.

“Feels weird, babe, like ― _amazing_ ,” Zayn breathes, falling out of rhythm, rising onto his knees when Liam’s thrusting up, barely keeping the tip inside. “Gonna come, but ― _shit_. Ah. Li ― feels so good.”

Liam nods, speeding up. It’s noisy, the wet smack of their hips, the bed jostling about. He stays focused on how Zayn’s skin flushes this mesmerizing pink, paling at his face and hands like all of the blood is rushing his dick.

Zayn comes abruptly, out of nowhere. There’s no fair warning, not like Zayn usually shouts about. No, it’s clear, thin spurts. A bit watery, like all of his precome is draining out before it turns thick, pearly. It’s an absolute mess, all over the sheets and Liam’s chest, drippy and bitter.

Just watching it all makes Liam harder inside of Zayn. He pulls Zayn down around him, smiling fondly when Zayn collapses over him, limp. He’s so slack, breathy moans encouraging Liam.

“Come for me,” Zayn whispers but it feels mindless.

Like he’s still not sure how to use his words.

Liam bites over Zayn’s shoulder, tiny red suns from his teeth embedded into Zayn’s skin.

He fucks Zayn like they’ve just started ― slow but slightly rough. Shallow thrusts going deep in seconds. It’s a mad scene, how he keeps straining to get deeper, how Zayn’s dick starts to plump up again.

It sways and stiffens between Zayn’s legs, still in Liam’s spare hand, and Liam’s defenseless against his thoughts.

How he could keep fucking Zayn until he nuts off for a second time.

“Oh, darling,” he whines, going still, pulsing into the rubber while halfway inside of Zayn.

His vision goes a bright white and he just stays there, lost on it all, coming with bodily twitches and Zayn whispering, “That’s it, babe. So good. So fucking good.”

 

++

 

Later, when he’s feeling lazy and knackered, barely twisting out of the bed to drop the rubber into the bin and stumbling out of the bathroom after a piss, he watches Zayn from the entranceway.

He’s shuffling into his clothes, flopping around, kicking about Liam’s kit to find a missing sock.

Absently, Liam’s lips quirk into something affectionate. One of those smiles he hides from the press, the fans too. The one that feels entirely meant for his boys ― mostly for Zayn now.

It makes his stomach bottom out and he’s absolutely opposed to thinking about it. Instead, he watches Zayn.

“Having a stay over?” he asks.

The skin around his eyes bunches into a thousand crinkles when Zayn looks up. Fuck, he’s going mad.

“Can’t,” Zayn replies, shrugging. It’s meant to be carefree but there’s a certain weight to it. “School. Studies and the usual, y’know? Boring life of a lad trying to make it into university, I s’pose.”

There’s a hint of a frown pulling at Zayn’s mouth but he turns away before Liam can get a proper view of it. He knows it’s there, though, just by the tension in Zayn’s shoulders.

“Sorry,” he mumbles; he’s not quite sure why. Seems appropriate.

(He’s so bloody daft, he swears.)

Zayn nods, humming, picking up Liam’s duvet to find the missing sock. He trips trying to tug it on, flopping down on the bed.

“Or I could stay and y’could drive me to school?” Zayn suggests.

He sounds so bloody _hopeful_ , even if he’s trying to hide it, looking careless and stubborn when Liam lifts his eyebrows.

“I’d get mobbed,” Liam replies, flatly. He pushes off the doorway, exhaling.

His mum (Paddy, too) has shouted at him about smoking in the house. Clean air and having manners and _‘it’s disrespectful, love, y’ shouldn’t just do that’_ is all he remembers but he finds his pack and fumbles with his lighter to have a drag, anyway.

He needs it.

Looking down at Zayn, all of the color drained from his cheeks, those owlish eyes like he wants Liam to stop being so ―

He doesn’t know the word but it’s fair to say Harry would know a good adjective and Louis would scold him and Niall wouldn’t talk to him for a solid week if they saw how _pathetic_ (tastes funny, but yeah, that’s it) he was being about all of this.

About, well, _being happy_.

Zayn nods, watching Liam take his first pull. He tugs on his jacket, scrubbing a hand through his hair, even though it doesn’t fix the mess. It just fluffs it and Liam’s not pretending he doesn’t find that adorable.

Honestly, it’s tragically endearing and he just wants to cuddle Zayn. For hours. Away from the world’s view.

“S’that what you’d like? Your mates seeing me?” Liam asks, stupidly, huffing his next drag. He doesn’t taste the greyish smoke but it heats his chest just right. “Everyone making a bit of a fuss?”

Zayn sniffs, lowering his face. He shakes his head while wringing his hands together.

Liam watches, even though most of him wants to look away.

There’s a weak smile on Zayn’s mouth when he lifts his head. “Nah,” he says, trying to laugh. “Wouldn’t want the attention off of me.”

Liam nods slowly, blowing out a breath of smoke, studying Zayn. The tension in his shoulders smooths a bit, his mouth twitching into something happy. Calm, Liam thinks, but not quite. He doesn’t know but Zayn smiles like he’s forgotten the last five minutes.

“Could drive y’ to the city meself,” Liam offers, stretching.

He doesn’t bother finishing the last of his cigarette, just needing enough to settle his bones. He crushes in some silly ceramic piece his mum bought for an old oak dresser along the wall. He’ll never need it ( _the furniture, the space_ ) but doesn’t bother telling her about it.

Zayn laughs gently. “Paddy will be arsed over it.”

Liam shrugs haphazardly, ruffling his own hair. It’s still cool and sweaty from their shagging, flopping into nothing.

“Wouldn’t mind seeing your sisters for a bit,” he smiles, rummaging through the battlefield of clothes from his luggage. He tugs on a mostly clean shirt, some skinnies that might be Niall’s, a comfy jumper.

Zayn snorts, rubbing a hand over his face. “They’re probably sleep,” he says. He tucks a ciggy behind his ear, for later, grinning lopsidedly at Liam. “You’ve gone and made them proper stalkers over you.”

It’s a passing joke, Liam thinks, but his mouth flinches into a warm smile at the thought. The way Zayn’s family goes on about him whenever Liam pops over.

(Absently, Liam wishes it was more frequent. He wishes he knew Zayn’s mum’s cooking or how pretty Doniya is in a colorful shalwar kameez during an Eid celebration or the way it looks at the dinner table with all of Zayn’s cousins gathered around.)

(Another thing Liam refuses to think too much about.)

“More time with you then, boy wonder,” Liam says, unconsciously affectionate.

He pulls a hand through Zayn’s thick hair, grinning down at him, sliding one of his snapbacks over Zayn’s head like it’s enough.

They don’t have to think about all of the other little things they can’t ( _haven’t_ ) changed right now.

 

++

 

**@Real_Liam_Payne:** _‘I need my bed’_

 

++

 

It always takes Liam _days_ to come down from his post-tour high.

Months, always running on adrenaline and kips in foreign hotel beds or his bunk on the bus. His body never adjusting to any particular time zone. Days living like a zombie and nights spent recharging on Red Bulls and cigarettes.

He feels the exhaustion slowly start to drip out of his pores once he’s back home.

Liam sleeps it all off, days in his bed, curled around the pillows and the curtains drawn shut to keep most of the sun out. Late lie-ins until the afternoon light burns over his retinas. Texts to Zayn, spontaneous and barely readable, and kips on the plush sofa for hours with _the First Avenger_ on a constant loop.

His comfort, he thinks between dreams.

The same routine on repeat until the exhaustion stops coming in fits and waves.

He checks in with the boys, daily ― each of them finding their own bits of relief: Harry off in sunny Los Angeles, again, constantly updating his Instagram with pictures and lazy descriptions. Louis regularly messaging them on their Whatsapp about sitting around in nothing but his pants, parked in front of the telly for footy replays, his poor diet of cereals and Yorkshire tea. Niall texting him new song ideas, chord progressions, holed away in some studio back home.

Their little connection always flickering for days, like the dying flame on a burnt down wick.

He barely finds the energy to ring up his mum for a short chat, catch up with Andy over Skype. But Liam always makes time. It anchors him back to reality ― all of those bits and bobs he’s tucked away in Wolverhampton. Back home.

After three lazy days, lying about, barely showering, Liam manages to stumble down into the kitchen ( _before noon_ , for once). He still feels out of sorts but in a pleasant way.

Paddy’s left a cardboard cup of tea on a corner of the marble counter. Liam immediately makes a face at it (his throat craving freshly a freshly steeped cuppa like his mum always insists upon when she visits) but his hand clutches it when Paddy raises an eyebrow. His lips lift into a grin, shrugging lazily.

There’s cold pizza still in the box at the end of the counter. He steals a slice and the combination is _awful_ (earl grey and pepperoni is a shit flavor, he decides) but he munches away. Loki pants at his feet and he casually drops a few pepperoni rings on the floor for him.

(He’s not a pup anymore and Liam reckons Nicola probably feeds him worse when she’s around)

“You’re alive,” Paddy says, sighing.

Liam rolls his eyes, grinning fondly. “Barely,” he huffs. “Times’it?”

“Nearly noon, you git,” Paddy smiles. “C’n hardly believe you managed to bother showering.”

Liam sniffs at himself, humming happily, downing another swallow of tea. “I reckon it might be time to get out. Can’t live in me boxers forever ― ”

“Don’t tell Horan that,” Paddy notes, snorting.

Liam bites back a laugh, licking the spicy flavor from the meat, the bitter blend of the tea from his lips. _Dreadful_ , he laments, making a sour face.

“Could do some shopping or summat.”

Paddy shrugs, flipping through some London rag that Liam wrinkles his nose at. He doesn’t bother reading any of them, not since he was eighteen and stubbornly daft. He’s certain he can get a laugh (or probably a good cry, depending) from the list of things said about him on Twitter.

“Doesn’t sound awful,” Paddy says. “Stay away from Knightsbridge, though.”

Liam frowns, a put upon pout just for Paddy. “But Harrods ― ”

“Have ye forget that trip to Selfridge’s a few months ago?” Paddy scolds.

(Liam smirks because his tone is nothing like the one Paul used to toss at them; some guilt trip of a fatherly voice that would make even Louis be a proper gentleman in public for a few minutes.)

Liam hums a response, nothing, honestly. He spares himself a lecture from Paddy, grabbing his phone off the counter, swiping a greasy thumb through his messages. He finds one from Zayn ― a picture.

A fuzzy snapshot of wild, tangled dark hair and sleepy eyes and one of those warm smiles. It’s unintentionally crooked and wide.

Something stubbornly loud hiccups in Liam’s chest but his smile moves in gentle waves over his mouth.

“Boy wonder hasn’t been around much,” Paddy mentions. There’s a loud fondness in his voice, almost teasing, that Liam recognizes.

He’s taking the piss out of Liam, like Louis would, the right bastard.

Liam swallows the last of his tea, locking his phone, shoving it into the pocket of his loose jogging bottoms. He’s still smiling goofily when he looks up, mumbling, “School. He’s got studies or summat. S’pose I should’ve thought of that before hooking up with him, yeah?”

“Not me place t’ comment, lad,” Paddy shrugs.

Liam nods, humming, rubbing leftover sleep from his eyes.

“But,” Paddy drags out, smirking, “I quite like the fella. Good lad. S’not about his age or nowt ‘cause he fits, y’know? Makes you calm.”

Liam whines, glares at his empty cup for a moment. “Oi, ‘m always calm.”

His eyes stray over the doubtful look Paddy shoots him. They trade unimpressed expressions until Liam cracks first, eyes scrunching up, a giggle climbing up his throat.

“You’re a legend, Payno, I’ll give ya that, but ya always the responsible bloke,” Paddy explains, tossing the tabloid into the bin. “Always the one the other lads depend on. The good guy, y’know? All about business and the music, the fans. You’re brilliant at making the world happy.”

Liam swallows at nothing, blinking. His teeth nip at his bottom lip.

“But that lad-y ― Zayn makes it all ‘bout you,” Paddy finishes, grinning. “Does his best t’ do ev’rything just for you, the idiot.”

Absentmindedly, Liam ducks his head to hide his half-smile.

He hadn’t really thought ― it’s never crossed his mind before, okay? Not like that.

His skin prickles with uncomfortable blush, fingers tapping along the cold marble countertop. They itch to grab his phone, sending off a simple text. Something he’ll be embarrassed over later, he’s certain.

“Thinking about him?” Paddy teases.

Liam groans, flipping Paddy off. He wrinkles his brow. “Can’t quite help it now, you wanker. Going on about him like you’ve got a right crush on ‘im or summat,” he complains, pouting.

The echo of Paddy’s laugh fills the kitchen like a bright sun. “Bullshit, boss. You’re always thinkin’ about ‘im, mate.”

A frown smooths over Liam’s mouth. “You’re a bloody horrible bodyguard,” he complains, finally giving in, tugging out his phone.

_‘Hi boyyyyy wonderrr! my place ths weekend?? have paddddy pick u up friday afterrr class.’_

He exhales a long sigh. He blinks at the screen until it dims black, sliding his phone over the counter. His fingers snatch up an old pack of cigarettes, his lighter, before he shoulders open the back door for Loki to scamper out of.

The morning is still dewy and grey, a late autumn overcast that he appreciates away from the city. The dulling green of his garden and the rough chill outside. He sniffs, lights up with a deep inhale. Liam doesn’t mind suffering for a smoke anymore, something he thinks he borrowed from Louis.

His lungs feel buoyant, even clouded with the smoke, and he reckons it’s all apart of recharging.

Except, he thinks Zayn gives him that feeling too.

He exhales and watches Loki sprint around the lawn, forgetting to think about anything else.

 

++

 

His fingers twist into the sheets, pulling, his thighs trembling in a way he won’t be able to forget. There’s a soft ache in his spine from the way he’s arching his back, his bottom lip split between his teeth, toes digging into the carpet.

He thinks it’d be so much easier if he just looked away but Liam _can’t_ ―

Not with Zayn between his legs, soft shoulders bracketed by Liam’s knees, inky-dark lashes spilling shadows over his cheeks with his eyes closed. Plush pink lips keeping the tip of Liam’s cock hidden, cheeks hollowing just a little.

_Fuck_.

He’ll admit it, without a hint of blush, he loves Zayn likes this: _eager_. Never in much of a rush, his technique still sloppy and inconsistent. It’s messy, spit dripping down onto his knuckles and those little gasps, soft _‘ah’_ over and over when he pops off the head.

On his knees, the carpet burning marks into his skin, trying to breathe through his nose as he sinks deeper.

Liam loves the way Zayn keeps trying to deep throat, even if he’s quite the amateur about it. Still learning to open up for the size of Liam’s cock. Nearly choking every time, pulling back briskly, fits of tears bubbling at the corners of his eyes.

A lazy, drugged out smile smearing over his swollen mouth.

Fucking hell ― the image just sticks in Liam’s mind.

That long trail of saliva from the tip of Liam’s dick to Zayn’s lower lip. Those nimble fingers squeezing impatiently around Liam’s shaft while Zayn tries to catch his breath.

“Good?” Liam asks, out of necessity.

(he’s not ashamed about it ― his concern, this need to make sure Zayn doesn’t go too far too soon, trying to prove something)

Zayn nods slowly, lips curling into a smirk.

“So big,” he gasps, his voice scratchy and harsh.

Liam groans under his breath, fixing a hand into Zayn’s hair. He laughs softly at the mewl Zayn gives, pressing his scalp into the palm of Liam’s hand.

So willing and obedient, Liam thinks. Needing some sort of anchor to keep him in place.

“More?” Liam wonders, tilting his head to watch Zayn.

He’s lapping at his own lips, tasting the precome, the musky flavor of Liam’s cock. He sucks in a sharp breath, nodding, too fragile to use his voice again.

“C’mon,” Liam giggles, adding a hint of pressure to the back of Zayn’s head, a little encouragement that makes Zayn curl forward. “Give it another go.”

Zayn moans, the noise raspy, before he leans into it. He tongues at the head, these vicious little flicks and Liam’s not sure if they’re deliberate but they roll a shiver through his thighs, feet scrambling on the carpet, hips lifting to get closer.

“Oh, babe,” he groans, tipping the head of his cock past Zayn’s teeth.

Zayn swallows, a jagged smile ruined by how far his lips stretch to accommodate the thickness of Liam’s cock as it moves over his tongue.

His mouth is soft, warm like a candied sun, the barest graze of teeth that Liam doesn’t flinch at. It’s soothing, distracting from the way Zayn’s mouth looks wrapped around his cock. But, on instinct, his fingers tug through Zayn’s hair, pulling him back before he can try to swallow him again.

A rough little grip, twisting around the ends, a whine garbled in Zayn’s throat. This shiver unearthing the tension in his shoulders, eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks.

Zayn likes this bit ― when Liam takes a little control from him.

He suckles around the head and waits. Blinking wet eyes open, pleading without words, never going too far until Liam lets him.

It’s fucking brilliant and Liam gives a stiff nod, scratching dull nails along Zayn’s scalp until he understands. Until he takes Liam full in his mouth again, struggling to fit the head in his throat.

“Careful, careful,” Liam warns.

Zayn sighs, blinking his eyes closed, easing down on it.

Such a good lad.

“Easy now,” Liam says, pushing the fringe off Zayn’s forehead.

Zayn’s split his jeans open, undone the flies, fingers curled around his cock, pulling off slowly. It’s a perfect contrast to the way he bobs over Liam’s dick. Gradually building speed rather than just having a merciless go at it, like he’s done with Liam’s twitching cock.

“Got you proper turned on, do I?” Liam teases, bending down when his stomach lurches from the pleasure.

Zayn hums, the vibrations too much, Liam’s hips jerking and knocking his cock free of Zayn’s lips.

There’s a scratchy giggle, a clear burst of laughter from Zayn’s lips. His fingers tighten around Liam’s cock, stroking the foreskin back while he moves about. He doesn’t settle back into position and Liam doesn’t whine about it.

Swollen lips drag over the skin on the inside of Liam’s thigh, wetting the downy hair.

Zayn loves this part, too: exploring all of Liam’s sensitive bits.

(the inside of his ankle, the soft skin behind his ears, the hollow dip where his collarbones meet)

He’s bloody fantastic at it, making Liam shake. Biting enthusiastically at Liam’s skin until a mark appears. A series of bruises like a map of stars. A galaxy of red suns all over Liam’s thighs.

There’s a knot in Liam’s throat when Zayn slips his mouth back around the head. His tongue dipping into the slit, fingers pushing the foreskin up, all the precome leaking freely. It spreads like a sickness to his chest, his lungs, infecting his limbs until he’s twitching.

(until he wants to shout to the bloody stars how much he adores this boy and how _calm_ he makes Liam)

And Zayn’s so into it ― buzzed and absolutely tranquil when he’s like this. Careless about the way his knees dig into the carpet or how fucked his hair will be or how raw his voice is going to be by morning.

“Oh, babe, think I’m gonna ― “

Zayn pulls off, grinning. His tongue darts over his lips, tears drying on his cheeks. He’s flushed all over, pink and crimson brushing the gold from his skin.

He keeps a hand around Liam’s prick, tugging, spreading the saliva and precome all around.

“My mouth,” Zayn breathes out, raggedly, swallowing at dead air. “Or my tongue. Wherever, babe, just.”

Liam groans, involuntarily giving a yank at Zayn’s hair and the way Zayn’s eyes dilate, turn black and wide, leaves Liam helpless.

He chokes off a moan and scoots forward, the tendons in his arm going stiff as he tries to keep himself in place. His cock spurts thick trails of come across Zayn’s lower lip, parted and barely open. A pink tongue catching a few drops, a spill down his chin.

It’s unnecessarily distracting, the way Zayn still looks so damn _beautiful_ like this. All of the air rushes out of his lungs and he’s panting, blinking away solar flares in his vision before he remembers ―

“Shit. Zayn,” he mumbles, finding his voice.

Zayn looks awed, still pulling absently at Liam’s oversensitive dick, letting it go soft between his fingers.

“You’re just ― _shit_ ,” Liam hisses, untangling his fingers from Zayn’s hair. “C’mon. Just c’mere and lemme ― “

He’s struggling with his vocabulary (and he’s certain Harry could offer him a dozen different proper words to fill in the blanks), still feeling the aftershocks, but he reaches down and hauls Zayn into his arms.

Liam fits Zayn into his lap, Zayn’s roughed up knees pressed into the soft mattress now, one hand smoothed over the small of Zayn’s back while the other knots around his throbbing dick.

It’s an angry ruddy hue, the head slick and sticky. It keeps flinching and Zayn’s breathing is erratic.

He’s blinking down at Liam, overwhelmed, and Liam knows what to do.

“So good,” he coos, stroking Zayn quickly. Neither one of them needs it slow anymore; not like this. “Such a nice mouth. Did so well on me, babe. Got all proper full on me, did ya?”

Zayn schools his face into something blank but his eyes ( _always the eyes_ , Liam thinks) gives him away. The way they twitch and flutter. It moves down to his mouth, teeth trying to bite away the tremble in his lower lip. His nostrils flare and Liam grins.

“Kept getting so deep.”

Zayn shakes, from wide shoulders to his narrow torso.

“Just wanted to give me what I needed, yeah? Fancied seeing me all fucked up over you, right? ‘Cause you make me feel so, shit, Zayn. _Incredible_.”

There’s a loud swallow, Zayn still not speaking but his hips lean into Liam’s grip, trying to fuck his way into the feeling.

Liam snorts, looking down. He’s not quite as limber as he’d like, so he doesn’t bother stretching his tongue to lap away the thick drops of precome.

Instead, he leans up to press a crime scene of kisses over Zayn’s chest. Across the feathered imprint of ribs under his skin. Over his sternum, trying to sketch the shape of Zayn’s collarbones with his tongue.

“Smashed it, babe,” he whispers. “Now be good f’r me and come all over me chest, alright?”

There’s a breath that hangs between them before Zayn goes tight in his arms. He sobs out an exhale. His fingers dig into the skin of Liam’s shoulder before he comes. Stringy squirts that mat into the fuzzy hair at the center of Liam’s chest.

“Fuck,” Zayn drags out, his voice still wobbly.

Liam hums appreciatively, still squeezing out come. “So good,” he mumbles, hoping Zayn can hear him but it doesn’t matter.

He thinks Zayn wouldn’t need it either way, going loose and relaxed in Liam’s arms. Breathing recklessly above him, like running a few laps after smoking a pack.

Liam lowers Zayn fully into his lap, uncaring about how the denim feels on his bare thighs or their awkward positioning. He curls fingers back into Zayn’s hair, admiring the dazed look on Zayn’s face.

Those sleepy crinkles at his eyes, the pink in his cheeks, how full his lips look after sucking dick.

He steals a kiss off Zayn’s mouth, refusing to wince at the taste of his own come. It’s bitter and thick, a tad salty but he likes the flavor on Zayn’s lips. He likes the way Zayn curves into the kiss like he wants the same.

 

++

 

It feels like hours before they’re ready to move, the afterglow just starting to burn around their muscles, still half-tangled around each other.

Zayn shyly crawls out of Liam’s lap, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s still shaking a bit, looked dazed and goofy. He’s giddy, grinning like mad, his skin still fairly flushed.

Liam gives him a once over, half-choking out a laugh. His mussed hair standing up while he shimmies out of his jeans, toes off his socks ― so boyish, but there’s hints of maturity sinking in.

The way Zayn handles himself better after a good orgasm.

(shedding those nerves, cocking his head at Liam like he can finally take as much as he gives)

Liam feels wound up, like there’s an energy in his blood, bubbling like carbonation.

“C’mon,” he insists, pushing up to his feet, pulling on a pair of old tartan cotton bottoms.

He’s feeling too wired, ready to crawl from under his skin. He watches Zayn’s eyebrows lift, a curious curl to his mouth. Liam shrugs, by way of an explanation, unable to process all of his thoughts at one time. Instead, a soft laugh bursts out and he reaches down to scoop Zayn up by the back of his thighs.

It’s clumsy, fairly awkward, finding a grip and balance. Zayn yelps but his arms twine around Liam’s neck and Liam steadies himself with two handfuls of Zayn’s arse.

“Good?” he asks, already walking.

Zayn giggles, shaking his head. “Very dramatic, man.”

Liam lifts his shoulders into another mindless shrug, humming. He feels Zayn’s ankles cross behind his back, keeping him in place. A bloody monkey wrapped around Liam and it’s horribly endearing, he thinks.

(he thinks the lads would take the piss out of him for hours if they caught a glimpse but there’s not a fuck to give when Zayn brushes a laugh into that crook under Liam’s jaw)

“We’re gonna crash and burn, man,” Zayn warns.

The entire house is shredded in black and purple shadows, slits of blue from a glowing moon outside. It’s dark, very dark, and nothing like his old flat. He could navigate with his eyes closed back in London.

But here ―

The architecture is different and there’s carpet and hardwood where he’s not expecting. Everything is so massive and there’s so much _space_ but he manages not to topple over. He doesn’t flip a light switch on and he remembers where all the unpacked boxes are along the way, dodging them.

“Don’t be such a twit, boy wonder,” Liam grins, finding the kitchen, plopping Zayn down on the center island. “I’m Batman, remember?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, lips quirking into a cheeky grin. He keeps his arms tangled around Liam’s neck, sighing.

Liam smirks, pressing his hands flat on the icy marble top. He flexes an eyebrow at Zayn and they linger quietly in the cool shadows of the kitchen.

“I like your eyes,” he mumbles, to lessen the silence, because he’s certain Zayn can hear how hard his heart is pounding.

Zayn bites at his lower lip. “Hmm?”

Liam shrugs carelessly, nosing along Zayn’s jaw. “Dunno,” he whispers, “Just wanted t’like, um. I just do. Always changing color.”

Zayn breathes out a laugh that stings all over Liam’s skin. So fond, so happy.

(his scent is all over Zayn’s skin, hiding the smell of autumn and copper leaves)

“Sounds mad, man,” Zayn sighs, like he’s trying to hide all the affection.

Liam lets him. He knows that feeling ― being too caught up, almost unnoticeable how in love you get when you’re not thinking about it.

(like _now_ , fuck.)

He steals away, hating how cold the floor is under his feet, reprimanding himself for not tugging on a pair of thick socks before coming up with this brilliantly daft plan. He hops in place, tugging open the stainless steel door of the fridge, shuffling around tupper loaded with home-cooked meals his mum left behind, endless bottles of water and ale (some brand Paddy loves and Liam _tolerates_ for the buzz) to find takeaway cartons.

“Curry?” he offers, biting along his grin, wrinkling his brow just a little at Zayn.

The flood of pale blue light created by the fridge banks off the soft edges of Zayn’s face (he’s still got the baby weight in his cheeks, thinning, his jaw a little more defined with or without the stubble) and he’s beaming at Liam. Absolutely chuffed, clapping his hands together.

(Paddy’s off somewhere, holidaying with the other lads’ security, a true lad’s night out or summat)

Liam pops open all of the containers and they feed each other cold roti, handfuls of rice, spicy kebabs with their fingers.

“Niall would make a sick bartender,” Liam says, casually, once they’ve demolished half of the food. He dips his thumb into one of the sauces, smiling sheepishly when he offers it up to Zayn.

Wide eyes (dark like vanilla bean but still glowing gold) crinkle at the corners when Zayn suckles the sauce off. He flicks his tongue over the nail, snickering.

“A proper brilliant pub owner or summat,” Liam adds, looking down.

The skin around Zayn’s knees is still sore, a pink burn. Liam wonders if they still ache, skimming his fingers over the surface.

They’ve taken to talking about life after One Direction, something he and the boys toss around when they’re dizzily sleepy. Crowded in a bus lounge, or quietly eating together backstage. Nothing serious, just shitting about. Taking the piss, creating little daydream scenarios for each other.

Dumb stuff, he thinks, but he’s so _fond_ of those moments.

(like feeling seventeen again, shoved into a bungalow, making daft wishes on shooting stars)

“A footy coach?” Zayn offers, feeding Liam a handful of cold rice.

Liam shakes his head adamantly, laughing when the rice sticks to his stubble. “That’s Tommo.”

“And Haz?”

Liam gives him a thoughtful look, furrowing his brow. “Zookeeper?”

Zayn barks out a laugh that knocks about the house in echoes.

(Liam remembers Niall begging him to take this house for _‘the acoustics, bro, imagine recording a live album in this place, Christ’_ and, yeah, he can see why now.)

“Hazza is insane,” Liam reasons, shrugging. “He’d do something _un_ ― um, that word.”

“Unconventional,” Zayn offers with a smile that’s not placating. It’s genuine, something Louis never is when Liam struggles with his words.

“That too,” Liam snorts.

“He’d make a sick solo career,” Zayn mentions.

“Oi! You’ve gone and fallen for one of me mates, now?” Liam teases.

Zayn scoffs, kicking out at Liam’s hip. “He’s got the voice,” he argues, tearing up the roti. He feeds a shred to Liam, adding, “Nothing like you, though. You’re like ― “

Blush bleeds heavy and red into Zayn’s cheeks when he ducks his head.

“Careful now,” Liam smiles, leaning in, softening his voice. “You’d think you’re a fan of us or summat. A right follower, yeah?”

Zayn shoves at Liam’s shoulder, scrunching his nose, pouting. “Your band is shit. I’m only in it for the shagging.”

Liam playfully pokes a finger at Zayn’s cheek, half-laughing, “Bloody well better be. ‘m aces in the bed, yeah? Top marks?” he grins, twisting his lower lip between his teeth.

Zayn gives a half-arsed shrug, humming. “Didn’t say that.”

Liam gasps like he’s wounded, puffing his lips out into an amusing frown, feeling something light and airy in his chest. It’s all easy banter, something he’s used to with the lads. No harm, no foul. And he’s not quite sure when Zayn became so _comfortable_ but ―

(it’s just another little thing he loves about Zayn, all of these anecdotes adding up to a massive pile of affection)

“You’re weird,” he says, because it draws a shaking little giggle out of Zayn’s system.

They wade in the quiet for a moment, finishing off the last of the food, Liam raiding the fridge for a carton of orange juice. They pass it back and forth, smiling, looking up through their eyelashes in the dim lightning bolt glow the moon provides.

“Nialler would probably start up another band. A proper rock one, I s’pose,” Liam whispers.

He fits himself between Zayn’s knees, listens to the thud of Zayn’s heel knocking against the island, licking tart concentrate from his lips while counting Zayn’s breaths.

(two for every one Liam exhales)

“One of those daft cover bands?” Zayn offers, chewing the inside of his mouth.

Liam clicks his fingers, nodding happily, his face scrunching.

“They’d do the Eagles, a bit of the Beatles,” Liam sighs.

“Few tunes from Arctic Monkeys?”

Liam snorts, dragging his lower lip under his teeth. “Could see him startin’ up a family of his own down the line,” he breathes out, feeling the fondness in his chest spread like a fever. “Tommo wanted a fam. Didn’t chat much about it, not with the others. But he’d tell me. Late nights, mucking about on the bus.”

Zayn nods along, tiptoeing long fingers over Liam’s knuckles.

“Couldn’t stop the knob from going on about wanting this massive clan or summat. Five or six of his own,” Liam laughs. He blinks down to watch their hands, turning and twisting to fit their fingers together. “He’d give each of us shit whenever we fancied someone but ― ”

Liam takes in a sharp breath, the noise like a hiccup.

“He loved that girl,” he mumbles, biting his lip to halt a frown. “Could’ve been worse, yeah?”

“Like him and Styles?” Zayn asks.

“Or him and Grimshaw. I swear those two were seconds from shagging at the Brits that one year,” Liam laughs.

“Gross,” Zayn pouts, wrinkling his nose.

Liam gives a languid shrug. “Yeah, well,” he exhales but he doesn’t say anything else.

He rubs at Zayn’s knuckles, watches Zayn take a slow swallow from the orange juice. He smiles a little when Zayn uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. Still so teenaged, his smile cheeky but goofy.

“I’d make a fantastic _baba_ ― ”

Zayn pauses like he’s catching himself, swallowing. His eyebrows knit together, a slump to his shoulders, lips poked out.

“Sorry, I mean,” he starts but Liam shakes his head.

“Father,” he grins.

(it’s that sweet swell of pride in his chest that makes everything else a hard fit, his next breath cut in half)

“Yeah,” Zayn exhales, “how’d you ― ”

Liam waves him off, smirking. His thumb drags over the corner of Zayn’s mouth, smearing off a stain of orange. He lifts his brow when Zayn stares for too long, waving his hand about like _‘continue,’_ swaying between Zayn’s knees to nonexistent tunes in his head.

Zayn’s face smooths from that incredulous look to something softer, relaxed. “I get on well with kids,” he says, his voice a gentle echo in the kitchen. “All me younger cousins look up t’ me. ‘m used to taking care of them. Looking after them.”

Liam snorts. “You’re still a kid,” he teases.

Zayn pushes out a pout, shiny pink lips from the orange juice and constantly licking at them. He reaches out to flick the end of Liam’s nose, grunting. Liam fights back by shoving at Zayn’s shoulder and they giggle into the nothingness of a cold, purple night.

It’s only seconds before they go quiet. Liam stood between Zayn’s knees, feeling safe. Feeling that bubble of warm content all over and ― yeah, that would be sort of smashing.

A life right here, with a few children running about. A life outside of the spotlight for awhile. Spending time in the studio (without a schedule, a timeframe, an obligation) between changing dirty nappies and story time at night.

Maybe, a life with this lad who makes Liam feel seventeen and weightless again.

It’s a mad, mad thought but he rather likes it.

(he won’t tell the lads or Paddy or even Zayn about it; keeping it all to himself as a _‘just in case’_ if life decides to take the piss at him again, leaving him dreamless like it did Louis after Eleanor)

 

++

 

It’s one of those languid, bright Sunday mornings, slow like the climb of the sun after a thunderstorm. _Easy_ , Liam thinks, where the light kisses every corner of the house and there’s nothing to do but fuck about. Chill and relax. The house still heavy with the scent of bold coffee and buttery pancakes.

The kind of morning that reminds you of being a kid, stretched across the living room carpet on your belly, kicking your feet back and forth while watching cartoons.

(Liam falls in love with it without thinking, sprawling into the feeling, absently letting it soak him)

He’s sat on the massive sofa, only in his boxers and one sock. He doesn’t care for where the others gone (probably come off while he chased Zayn playfully through the halls, stealing kisses and threading his fingers through Zayn’s shower-wet hair) because there’s this coziness bathing the house.

A neat little bow of _‘fuck it’_ all over.

He’s slaughtering Paddy in a game of Mario Kart (because Paddy is, admittedly, shit at video games but he humors Liam out of pity ― or obligation, whichever) while Loki wedges between the cushions, snuffling his nose to Zayn’s knee, having a kip.

And Zayn ―

The edge of the sun along his features is uncanny. He’s bunched up on the sofa, wearing an old pair of Liam’s jogging bottoms. He’s nicked one of Liam’s snapbacks, shirtless, stains of dark ink scattered like islands on his skin.

He’s spent most of the morning sketching for some art project due in a week or so. Humming gently, fingers discolored from the lead, eyelashes long and feathery on his cheekbones as he looks down.

“How’s it comin’?” Liam wonders, eyeing the telly.

Paddy curses under his breath, barely dodging a turtle shell. Liam’s lips lift into a grin.

Out the corner of his eye, he spots Zayn giving a one-shouldered shrug.

“It’s probably shit,” Zayn mumbles. He huffs down at the sketch. “Gonna fail right out of me senior year. Probably can’t even pass my A-levels. ‘m just shit.”

Liam makes a protesting noise, blindly giving Zayn’s knee a squeeze.

“Shut it,” he admonishes with a smile. “Too brilliant for someone like me. I was absolute shit. Got real lazy in me academics after sixteen.”

Zayn hums, a defeated noise that makes Liam’s fingers tighten around his knee. They stay like that ― Liam playing with one hand (and still winning), Zayn humming, this orangey connection between them with Liam’s fingers and Zayn’s knee.

“What d’you think about when you’re in the studio?” Zayn asks, teeth pulling around his lower lip. “I mean, like, when you’re writing?”

_You_ , Liam thinks, but the word sits in his throat. It’s dreadful. Awful and cheesy.

(and if he’s being honest, lately, it’s the utter truth)

But he doesn’t have the bullocks to say it. He shrugs halfheartedly, mumbling, “Dunno.”

Paddy tosses down his controller (and a mouthful of foul words) to push off the couch, muttering something about making a few calls, playfully smacking the back of Liam’s neck a few times.

“Horrible boss,” he sighs, smiling.

Liam smirks, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa, stretching. He half-turns to Zayn, studying how cherry red his lip gets when he chews on it.

(and how the sun bleeds over his face, his fringe peeking from under the snapback, his fuzzy eyebrows)

“Sometimes,” Liam starts, pulling his knees to his chest, “I just write about things my mates have been through. The love stuff. The breakups. Absolute rubbish when we’re all sat around having a pint. Just a bit of a good time, innit? When you’re having a chat about being in love.”

Zayn looks passive for a moment, wiggling his eyebrows. He sucks in a breath, lifting his shoulders lazily. Almost unsure, like he’s never had a moment like that ―

Because Liam keeps forgetting Zayn’s young, hasn’t had those nights where you laugh at miserable times and moan about _‘the one that got away’_ over a bottle of whiskey.

Absently, his fingers rub over Zayn’s bare ankle, a smile stitching to Zayn’s lips.

“You’ve done a bit of that? Just laughed about a silly romance or summat?”

Zayn nods slowly, snorting. “With Danny,” he admits. “Once or twice. Nothing serious, y’know? He’s always falling head over feet, or whatever. Gets right manic over a girl he fancies.”

Liam exhales, nodding. His fingers keep time on Zayn’s skin to the silly music from the game.

He loves this feeling ― _doing nothing_. Just being a lazy lad.

(shamefully so in love with a boy and unable to say a thing about it)

“D’you ever think about it?” Liam asks. He sighs a breath, adding, “Having a go at singing again? Going out for X-Factor or summat?”

Zayn freezes for half of a second. Just until Liam’s fingers smooth under the cuff of the joggers, finding Zayn’s calf.

“Nope,” Zayn mumbles, shaking his head. He starts to sketch again. “Sometimes,” he whispers, shrugging, a cheeky smirk on his lips. “Don’t think I’d like it, though. I see, sometimes, what you lot go through and, um, I ― “

There’s a hitch in Zayn’s next breath that Liam follows. His fingers keep moving, stroking across the hair on Zayn’s leg, pushing over the muscle.

“Sometimes I need a bit of time to myself, y’know? I don’t think I’d like all of the attention,” Zayn says, his voice dragging, “Dunno how you do it, sometimes.”

Liam cocks his head back, smiling at the vaulted ceiling.

(he thinks, after eighteen, it just became a habit ― putting all of his wants aside for the band or for a dream)

(missing out on being just some nameless bloke, on being _Liam_ instead of _‘Liam Payne from One Direction’_ or _‘Daddy Direction’_ or everything else the world expects him to be)

He hums a noise, nonsense, feeling a bit bored with the thoughts. He stretches out over the sofa, nudging his head into Zayn’s lap, grinning.

Zayn smiles down at him and Liam feels weightless.

“What d’ya think about when you draw?” he asks.

Zayn bites his lip. “Dunno. _You_ , sometimes. Pretty gross, yeah?”

Liam shrugs, swallowing down a laugh. “That’s fair. ‘m inspiring.”

“You’re _horrible_ ,” Zayn giggles, threading silver-grey fingers into Liam’s hair. His lips sit crooked, his smile wide enough to flash teeth and a pink tongue.

“I think about you,” Liam says, feeling bolder, still keeping his voice low. “When I’m, like, stuck on a song or summat.”

He’s waiting for Zayn to laugh it off or call him _daft_ but ―

Zayn’s smile softens, just at the corners of his mouth, his hand shifting through Liam’s hair.

(he likes Zayn’s hands in his hair and that’s weird, he thinks, all things considered)

It’s just a forgotten rule now. He wants to forget all the bloody rules this life binds him to. Just for days like this.

 

++

 

It feels like ages since he’s seen his boys.

The sun has flicked itself head-first into the level waves of the ocean, leaving behind waves of tangerine in the pink sky over Orlando.

It doesn’t take much to convince them all to bunk up in Louis’ room for just one night. It feels like it always does when they have moments like this. Just four love-drunk blokes, reliving the glory days. Rebels with a bottle of cheap rum, the telly buzzing in the background, spread out over a king-sized bed.

They’ve got an early wake-up call for some American talk show (they can never quite remember which one, like when they’re back home) but they’re all buzzing like that first year of touring ― when they crowded into shit hotels with trashy porn and poor water temperature in the showers.

(Liam thinks, happily, it’s like that static shock you get when you pull a fresh load out of the tumbler)

“She was up f’r it,” Niall grins, cuddled under Harry’s arm. “Bloody well wanted t’ suck me dick in the loo, I swear. Sick flight attendant with those hot towels ― “

“I love those,” Harry smiles, lazily, crooked.

Louis scoffs, wiggling his bare toes into Harry’s hip. “Don’t be rude ― Nialler’s giving us a good tale.”

“A good _lie_ ,” Harry giggles, nuzzling into Niall’s temple.

Niall pouts, looking cross for a breath. “S’true, you dick. Would’ve done it had I not had a smashing bang the night before ― ”

Louis smothers a giggle into his palm, passing off the bottle. Niall scowls, huffing.

“Hate you lot,” he mumbles. “Always fuckin’ up me good time.”

“Aww, Nialler,” Harry hums, pulling Niall closer, burying his laugh in Niall’s fuzzy hair. “We love your stories.”

“True gentleman,” Louis teases, hiccupping. “Always been the kiss-and-tell kind, haven’t ya?”

Niall flips him off and they all fall a little soft, quiet on this feeling. The carefree memory of just being lads, shit-talking through their best one-offs and worst blind dates.

Liam smiles at them, this warm feeling in his chest and cheeks. It keeps him floating.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he wiggles about to reach it, tugging it out. It’s a text message ― no, a video message. From Zayn.

(and something loud, neon creeps up his chest and spreads into his grin, twisting it lopsided)

He thumbs it open, tilting his head to watch ―

_‘You’ll burn it, you dolt!’_

_‘I will not, Doni, back off.’_

_‘Am I on camera? Is this for Leeyum? Can you see me?’_

_‘Oh, Saf, hopefully not, inshallah. You’re a right mess.’_

_‘Will you all be quiet? He’s gonna see this. He’s gonna think me family mental or summat.’_

_‘Not us, just_ you _, bhai! Luckily, he’s probably in love with you, masha’Allah.’_

_‘Doniya, shut it!’_

Liam grins, feeling dopey. He smiles at the grainy footage of Zayn and his sisters milling about the kitchen, fussing with smirks over the hob. Safaa humming and thumping about, jumping into the camera’s view before Waliyha swats her away. Doniya scolding Zayn with a wooden spoon while he tosses a few more spices into something bubbling in a massive pot.

Something loaded and thick catches in Liam’s chest when Zayn strolls up to the camera. A lazy pink smile and his hair barely a quiff. He’s shirtless, jeans hanging low on his hips, the tops of his Armani pants visible.

“Sorry, babe. Chat you later?”

Liam bites his lip, nodding even though Zayn can’t see him.

“Gross!” Safaa squeals in the background.

Zayn rolls his eyes, giggling like an idiot, the video ending abruptly.

Liam sinks down into the bed, in the warmth of the duvet and the wreckage of pillows. He pulls in his bottom lip, sucking instead of biting, thumbing at his phone. He thinks about replaying the video. Or calling Zayn.

It’s too early in England, he knows. He hates the time differences because he was shite at maths. He can never quite figure out the time zones and if it’s noon over there or earlier. Bloody hell.

There’s a thump and Harry’s howling and, between breaths, Liam must’ve missed some sort of half-arsed game of Truth or Dare because Niall and Harry are dashing into the hotel hallway.

In just their pants.

It’s horribly distracting and, well, _disturbing_ , and Louis takes advantage of the diversion to nick Liam’s mobile.

“Oi,” Liam whines, making grabby hands at Louis.

Louis purses his lips, knocking the bottle back, smirking deviously. The fucking devil in a tiny body, Liam reckons.

There’s a ciggy tucked behind Louis’ ear, his hair like the aftermath of a tornado. Frizzy fringe hangs in his sea-mint eyes, the rough stubble around his mouth not quite as thick as it has been lately.

“Alright?” Louis wonders, tilting Liam’s phone.

Liam hums, leaning back. The bed is too firm ― he just wants to sink.

Louis sniffs, replaying the video, choking on a laugh. “This is miserable.”

“Tell me about it.”

The uneven line of Louis’ smirk subsides before he drops the phone between them. He blows out a breath, cuddling closer, nudging Liam’s ribs until he drops an absentminded arm around Louis’ shoulders.

They always get like this ― when it’s just them. On a bender. On a trip to California for some week-long writing sesh. When Louis doesn’t have to be the loud, obnoxious asshole the world expects him to be.

“If I’m being honest,” Louis starts and Liam knows better. Louis is always rudely blunt about _anything_ given the opportunity. “’M happy for you, mate. Seems like you’ve gotten your feet under you now, yeah?”

Liam swallows, blinking at the ceiling. He doesn’t have the energy to shrug or offer up a one-word answer.

Instead, he breathes a noise, wrinkling his nose.

“I’m good.”

“Good,” Louis repeats, slow like he’s doubtful.

Liam grins, pushing down a giggle. “Yeah, like. Happy. Satisfied?”

Louis pulls a face. “Not quite interested in your sex life, Payno, thanks.”

“Cheers,” Liam says with a laugh this time. “I’m _content_ , man.”

“Better,” Louis sighs. He crosses his hands over his chest, fingers drumming mechanically, knees pulled up.

The white noise of the telly keeps their silence tolerable. It’s not quite as awkward, something they outgrew years ago.

Louis sighs, again, shoulders going tight. “Try not t’ take the piss out of me but ― “

Liam snorts, instantly, rolling his eyes.

(He knows they’re seconds away from one of those _brotherly chats_ , something that feels rare now; always on the go, always around each other for too long before they all need a break from living on top of one another)

“ ― it’s been a bit lonely for me, alright? Not with you lot ‘cause, for fuck’s sake, I could go a few months without your ugly faces.”

Liam jabs Louis in the ribs, smiling.

“But without,” Louis swallows, his eyes widening, “ _her_.”

It’s palpable ― the quiet. The noise of the telly and Niall and Harry’s cackling ringing down the hallway. Their synchronized breaths on the bed. But the quiet is so bloody _loud_.

“Still fuck about whenever, y’know? Get off with some mates back home or find a nice bird to shag after a night on the piss but,” Louis pauses and Liam pulls him a little closer, waits for him to exhale. “Sorted out that I miss something steady, y’know? No matter how fucked it was. It was nice, okay?”

He’s looking at Liam now, wide-eyed, chapped lower lip fighting against a frown.

Liam flashes him a goofy grin, the effect creating crinkles at his eyes and a fullness in his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he exhales.

(it stings, remembering how this felt, ages ago ― when it was him thinking about Danielle, Louis’ calloused fingers dragging over his buzzed head for hours just to calm him down)

Louis gives a short nod. He tils his chin up, glaring at the ceiling, shuffling down until his temple is pressed under the wing of Liam’s arm.

“Hang onto this thing you’ve got with ‘im, okay?” Louis suggests.

Liam wrinkles his brow. He wants the forgotten bottle of rum or the cigarette tucked behind Louis’ ear. Something to burn off the edge he feels building.

“I don’t wanna, like,” Liam finally bites on his lip, furrowing his brow, “I could go and muck this up for the band, right? What’ll happen if ― ”

Louis groans, butting his forehead to Liam’s ribs. He grumbles, flicking up a tiny grin. “So? We’ve all fucked about. Doesn’t matter with whom, eh? There’s always gonna be talk, man.”

Liam wrinkles his face because, well, it’s not solid reasoning. Honest, _yes_ , but still.

“S’about what you choose to talk about that matters, bro,” Louis finishes. “It’s your life, Payno. The rest is bullshit.”

Liam blinks down at Louis for a second. He feels restless but still a tad weightless. Like he’s comfortable being himself. Shrugging off that _‘sensible one’_ stereotype he’s been dragging around for years.

They kick about in the silence again, just breathing, letting the rum calm all of their thoughts.

Liam likes that. It feels bloody amazing.

 

++

 

“So, Liam, what’s your story?” the interviewer asks, her candy red lips gliding up into a cheeky grin, eyelashes fluttering like she’s on the verge of flirting but Liam knows better.

It’s just what morning show hosts do, okay?

She’s already poorly attempted to chat up Harry (and been on the unhealthy end of a glare from Louis ever since) and keeps resting her hand on Niall’s bad knee, tossing her hair, giggling at nonsense Harry goes on about.

Liam’s not offended by it all; he’s done this enough.

“Someone special back home?” she adds.

The ocean of screams from the live audience has become a little less deafening but he can still hear their shrieks and the occasional _‘marry me Liam, please!’_ tossed about. It’s nothing like when Harry speaks but Liam’s not at all bothered by it.

Instead, he grins bashfully, ducking his head. He feels sheepish, shrugging while Louis stuffs his microphone at Liam’s mouth.

“Enough of that,” Louis chides, laughing. “Answer her.”

“I mean,” Liam sighs, shoulders going round his ears, “There’s _someone_. Yeah. Back home and stuff.”

It’s almost instant, the way the waves of audience splits between a disgruntled hush and a siren of coos. He sniffs, swallows, tries to pretend that incessant beat of blush along his cheeks isn’t there.

“Oi, he’s such a romantic,” Louis laughs, knocking his knee against Liam’s, “Listen to this one, will ya? _‘Yeah, someone back home and stuff.’_ Doesn’t wanna talk about it, I s’pose.”

The host smirks, pitying him, half-turning back to Harry without missing a beat. There’s some chatter about his hair and a segment on the new album and Liam is so grateful for these three boys.

( _his comfort, his home_ )

He slouches down in his chair, nodding at everything, letting someone else speak up for once.

But that abashed, genuine smile on his mouth (from being brave, bold) doesn’t slide off until they’re well off camera and he can breathe properly.

 

++

 

**_#WhoIsLiamDating_ **

He thought it a joke when Andy first texted him, a few hours after landing this morning. He hadn’t bothered with Twitter in a few days, too caught up with interviews and stealing off to Universal Studios with Niall, catching a sick burn on the nape of his neck from the endless spill of Florida sun.

But now, back home, lounging in bed, he thumbs through Twitter and ―

**_#PayzerVersion3_ **

Liam furrows his eyebrows, making a face. It’s all a bit of rubbish, the internet rumors and the articles on Sugarscape but he’s not expecting all the curiosity. It’s just ―

He’s _Liam_. Not Harry or Louis, who the world obsesses over and fans still hide off in bushes to catch Harry wandering about London.

Or even Niall, who parades all of his partying and one-offs around the city because he’s always been so easygoing. He’s in it for a good time, alright?

Liam sighs, scratching at the trail of fuzz down the center of his bare chest. His hair is well fucked from the travel and he’s not even bothered with proper clean clothes ― still wasting away in a pair of old joggers. He scrolls through his feed for a minute more, making faces. He thinks to make a comment or just some random tweet about it all but he resigns to just logging off.

He tosses his mobile into the sheets and blinks up when fingers drum lazily at the door frame.

Zayn leans in the entryway, all the pale light of the hallway hanging off his shoulders. He’s biting casually at his lower lip, a sugary red color. He grins cheekily. He’s wearing some posh Armani half-suit Liam bought him for an art show he attended at some gallery in the city with his family.

Liam takes him in, swallowing, something wickedly hot moving down his belly.

It’s rather amazing ―

The buttons of his shirt are haphazardly done, like he’s skipped a few, the fabric puckering where it doesn’t hang open. His tie is loosely knotted at the collar. Neatly pressed trousers slide down on his hips and his hair is a flat disaster rather than standing up in a fluffy quiff.

His bare feet drag over the carpet when he walks in. It’s more of a sway, a lazy glide that fits a crooked smile over Liam’s lips.

“What s’that for?” he wonders, cocking his chin up.

Zayn bites over his smirk. “Nothing.”

He strides around the bed, blindly unbuttoning his shirt, humming. The trousers slip, the zip already undone, black briefs almost a size too small ―

The fucking _tease_ is what Zayn is. He’s looking up through his eyelashes and chewing his lip a violent red, swollen. Tugging at the tie until it’s looser.

“Wanted to impress you?”

Liam snorts, unconsciously spreading his legs, a hand dragging down his belly. He squeezes around his semi, nodding. It creates these rippling shivers up his arms that he tries to hide.

He thinks Zayn’s impressive without the clothes or the money or all the pricey things this life Liam leads has to offer.

Zayn knees his way up the bed, rubbing at the nape of his neck. “Sorted out I wanted to show you I could fit in,” he says, low, a nice rasp to his voice like he’s just finished a cigarette. “In your world, I mean.”

He climbs into Liam’s lap, knees bracketing Liam’s thighs, the shirt sliding down his shoulders.

Liam wrinkles his brow, smiling. “Yeah?”

Zayn nods, still gnawing at his lip. A see-saw of teeth leaving it candied and slick.

“You’d let me show y’off to everyone?” Liam inquires, running his spare hand over Zayn’s hip.

He likes the tremble it creates, how easily Zayn loses some of his cool.

Zayn nods slowly, shuddering. “You’d like that?”

Liam shrugs, unaffected. “Could be cool, y’know? The whole world watchin’ me boyfriend. Getting proper turned on by you.”

A giggle fumbles past Zayn’s lips, his skin burnt by a harsh red blush. He sniffs, cocking his lips into a pout like a right bastard.

(he’s prattled around too much with Louis, Liam thinks)

“Seems fair,” Zayn whispers, easing down, sat over Liam’s fattening cock, “since I’ve been stuck watching all of these birds ― “

“Lads too,” Liam teases, curling a finger in a belt loop, tugging Zayn up.

Zayn rolls his eyes, scooting forward, a hand pressing to the headboard. “ ― blush over you,” he finishes. His fingers smooth into Liam’s hair, dragging on his scalp.

“Jealous?”

Zayn purses his lips when Liam flicks up a challenging eyebrow. Tension shivers over his stomach when Liam taps softly over the heart tattoo.

“Could be.”

“Yeah?” Liam wonders.

His hand skims over Zayn’s skin, down the front of his trousers, molding around the shape of Zayn’s dick. He gives a quick squeeze, grinning when Zayn flinches.

Zayn flicks a tongue over his lips, sighing. “Want the world to watch me?”

Liam slouches and that familiar ( _unwanted_ , he thinks) pressure settles on his chest again. That ebb and flow of coming out, letting the world in on _this_. On him and Zayn.

“Don’t know if, like,” he huffs, looking away. He smooths a hand over the shape of Zayn’s arse, blinking his eyes shut. “Dunno if it’s a brilliant idea, just yet, y’know? Coming out.”

He waits a beat, anticipating Zayn crawling off of him. Because he’s an asshole. He’s selfish. And everything about _being Liam Payne_ feels like a right lie but ―

“Well,” Zayn mumbles, curling a finger under Liam’s chin, smiling when Liam’s eyes flick open, “I could just do this for you.”

Closer, Liam stretches around a breath, Zayn leaning down, whispering, “Be a good boy and ― ”

Liam hisses when Zayn rocks his hips counterclockwise. An awful grind, that space between his balls and arse skimming over Liam’s covered stiffy. A landscape of skin in front of him from Zayn’s billowing shirt.

“Wanna be so good for you, babe,” Zayn adds, taunting.

Another stutter of his hips and Liam bites his bottom lip to harbor a growl in his throat.

“Lemme be good ― ”

It’s a whimper and Liam stumbles into Zayn’s begging. He sits up, lifting Zayn off of him, panting. There’s already a thin glaze of sweat along his skin as he tugs off his joggers. He scrubs a hand through his hair, watching Zayn sprawled on his back, looking wrecked and ready.

Their hands collide as they strip Zayn out of his kit. Liam pauses, shaking his head when Zayn goes for his shirt.

“Leave it,” he demands, smacking a soft palm to Zayn’s bum. Y’look good in it.”

Zayn whines, arching his back, spreading his legs like an invitation.

Like a request, a prayer.

Liam gives a few lazy tugs at his dick, the tip slippery with precome, the foreskin hugging tight around the head. His tongue drags over his dry lips ―

They haven’t kissed. He hasn’t roughed little pink patches over Zayn’s neck or his collarbones. His mouth hasn’t fit around Zayn’s cock and it feels like cotton in his throat.

He’s so bloody _parched_ at the way Zayn looks.

“On your knees,” he hisses, still pulling at his dick.

Zayn chews at his lip, hesitating.

“C’mon,” Liam sighs, pressing his knees on the edge of the bed, nearly climbing up just to take Zayn like this ―

On his back, legs curled around Liam’s hips, shouting at the ceiling rather than facedown with his hips propped on a pillow.

“Get up,” Liam hums, carefully patting Zayn’s bum again. There’s already a pink bruise from earlier, a hand-sized imprint. “Grab the headboard. Lemme shag y’ from behind, alright?”

Zayn stays quiet but his body reacts immediately ― a full shiver, toes curling into the duvet. He’s lazy about it, turning over, knees digging into the bed, the pucker of his hole visible.

Liam grips around the shaft, precome trickling out, his thoughts fucked over how anxious Zayn gets. Crawling up the sheets, leaning his elbows on the headboard, a supple curve to his spine. His arse pushed out, the tail of his shirt draped over it.

It’s off instinct that Liam moves about, fishing through a couple of drawers for the lube. There’s a strip of condoms somewhere (his wallet or maybe the bathroom or ― ) and he’s always been so _responsible_ about things like this but Zayn sighs from the bed, shaking his head.

“But ― “

Zayn makes a protesting noise, tilting his arse higher.

“C’mon, Leeyum, I _want_ ― “

Liam settles a nervous laugh. He gives a nod, climbing up the bed.

“Need some fingers?”

Zayn shakes his head, a jerking motion, really. He breathes through his nose, ducking his head. He rubs his forehead along his sleeves, sighing.

“’M alright, I think. Had a couple in me this morning, before you got in. Was having a wank about ― “

“Fuck. Shut up. Gonna nut off just listening t’ you talk,” Liam hisses, crowding to Zayn’s back, lube-wet fingers sliding up his cock.

He’s excessive with it, slicking himself. Smearing a handful over Zayn’s hole, letting it drip down between his thighs. Zayn goes still, breathing harshly, tipping his hips.

Liam exhales over Zayn’s fantail tattoo, watching the trembles down the knots of Zayn’s spine. He nuzzles into Zayn’s hair, the scent of some kiwi shampoo lingering. He nips at the knob at the top of Zayn’s spine, repeatedly snubbing his prick over Zayn’s hole.

“Good for me,” he mumbles.

Zayn breathes a moan into his sleeve, nodding.

“Wet for me.”

A sigh, high-pitched and laughably needy.

Liam slaps the tip of his cock over Zayn’s hole, blinking down to watch himself. To stare at Zayn’s hole puckering, the lift of his hips, pushing back onto Liam. All the shine from the lube, from Liam’s precome. The thick base of his cock sitting between Zayn’s arse cheeks.

_Wow_.

He finds a warm, soft spot of skin along Zayn’s neck, fitting his teeth around it. He shifts his hips, dragging his cock up and down, almost nudging in.

Zayn sighs, tilting his head, giving Liam more space.

“When I’m in you ― ”

Zayn strains out a noise, inching back.

“ ― y’can fuck y’self on me, alright?”

He drags the tip of his tongue across Zayn’s earlobe, grinning. He doesn’t wait for that breath Zayn’s been holding to slip out. He centers his hips, fumbles a hand between them, lining himself up. He’s so bloody hard for it, not bothering to hold the base of his cock to slip in. It nudges in without assistance.

Zayn tenses for a second, hissing, eyes fluttering closed.

Liam’s careful, waiting it out, mouthing a trail of pink stars over the nape of Zayn’s neck.

“Good,” Zayn mumbles, relaxing into it.

“Sure?”

Zayn nods, swallowing around words. A softer slope to his spine answers for him.

Liam settles a hand on the small of Zayn’s back, pressing, keeping Zayn steady as he sinks in. He drags in an inch, pulling back, wiggling forward to give Zayn more. He keeps it gradual, letting Zayn adjust, relearning how brilliant this is.

For him, for Zayn.

Zayn’s skin pinks, from his cheeks to his chest, when Liam whispers, “Look at you, babe. Always take it so well.”

His sweaty palm slides up Zayn’s skin, tickling down to pat over Zayn’s arse when he bottoms out.

“S’that alright?”

Zayn moans, sweat smeared over his brow, his lips brushing the cotton of his shirt. He pushes back, squeezing ―

“Shit.”

Their groans echo in unison, Liam dragging half of the noise to Zayn’s neck. His knees dig into the bed for balance and Zayn leans on the headboard, going soft all over except where his hole hugs Liam’s dick.

It takes a breath before Zayn eases up, shivering, resting with just the tip of Liam’s cock in him before he sinks back. Over and over, like a healthy set of lungs. He pulls off, pushes back, smooths his bum to Liam’s hips.

Liam squeezes faint bruises to Zayn’s hips with his fingers. He blinks down at his cock disappearing inside of Zayn. It’s shiny and throbbing when Zayn pulls off again.

He grins, presses his fingers into the grooves of Zayn’s hips.

“So good for me. So tight for me,” he whispers into Zayn’s hair. “Want more, boy wonder?”

Zayn whimpers, nods.

The clutch of his arse around Liam’s dick is unbearable. Liam sucks in a breath, struggling not to just pull out and wank himself off. He likes the feel ― warm and endless. Liquid sunshine, if that ever made sense.

When Zayn goes sloppy, too sedated by the sensations, Liam gets a proper grip on his hips. He tugs Zayn back, fucks forward. He finds a simple rhythm, dicking into Zayn. Drowning on the sound of Zayn’s wet hole and the thrust of his hips when they smack Zayn’s bum.

His heart pounds in his ears like a full-on marching band. It’s loud, aggressive.

Liam’s dick twitches inside of Zayn, over and over. He’s close. Just the feel of his cock sliding in and out, bare, the way Zayn clenches on him when he’s too far out.

“Back in, back in,” Zayn mumbles.

Liam smirks, obliges without reservation. He shoves into Zayn, watching Zayn lose his breath when he knocks into the headboard. Softer, Liam leans up, biting at Zayn’s ear. He grinds deeper.

“Like that?”

Zayn whines, shaking. It’s not ― Liam’s not ready. An electrically fuzzy gasp leans off Zayn’s lips and he’s trembling. He’s coming, wet spurts all over the pillow between his legs. He’s been rubbing off on it, dick shoving into the soft cotton, soaking it now.

He goes silky, smiling. His head tips back onto Liam’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded and glazed. His hole, unconsciously, clenches repeatedly around Liam’s dick.

“Fuck.”

Zayn breathes a laugh.

Liam pulls out, anxious, rubbing his fingers over the slick head. He pulls the foreskin back, snubbing and smacking the head over Zayn’s well fucked hole. It’s pink, puffy, still drippy from the lube.

“Shit, boy wonder,” Liam hums, pulling off, dragging his sweaty brow over Zayn’s shoulder.

“Mmm.”

Liam leans up, all of the muscles in his legs catching fire, his fingers tightening before releasing around his cock. He barely flicks his wrist before he’s shooting off, dipping his cock to squirt between Zayn’s thighs.

A hiss seeps between Liam’s clenched teeth, all of his muscles tightening like a vice. He’s barely breathing, too overrun by his orgasm, nudging fully against Zayn.

“Always good to me,” he whispers, kissing at Zayn’s temple.

Zayn exhales softly, giggling, still breathless.

(it’s all Liam needs for now ― just this boy and this feeling)

 

++

 

The sun clips through the house in strong fits of broad light and _it’s too early_.

It’s too bloody early. It’s not yet nine in the morning. His head throbs from a bender at some X Factor after party with Niall (the drunken bastard; always in for a good drink and a night of poor dancing) and all Liam wants is a paracetamol and some lemon ginger tea.

Liam’s still sleepy, rubbing at his eyes. He stumbles down the halls, a hand dragging on the wall as he moves about. He huffs, already composing an angry text for Niall in his head ―

Except it fucking _stings_ to think of words with more than three letters.

He yawns, stretches up onto his toes, ignoring the grumble from his stomach.

There’s humming from one room, the distinctive scent of aerosol and paint hanging in the air.

_Oh_. Right.

Liam sinks into the doorway of one of the rooms, smiling. Zayn’s back is to him, the soft thrumming of music from a nearby stereo buzzing all around. The sun carves out the soft shape of his skinny frame ― some cutoff shirt hanging limp on him, loose joggers, bare feet pushing into the wrinkled sheet over the carpet.

The walls are all stained in spray paint and acrylics. Weird shapes and odd characters everywhere.

(It was Liam’s idea ― giving Zayn a room in his house just for his artwork. All his own, to create and destroy. A place for Zayn to leave his imprint ―

To be himself; a getaway.)

He licks at his chapped lips, eyes crinkling while he stares at Zayn. His nose twitches at the dust floating in the room, the sun knocking it around.

Zayn’s sketching a new design into a blank square on the wall, this subtle tension in his shoulders as he moves. He shuffles over the floor, admiring his art.

Liam studies him, biting on his grin.

He thinks about all of the little things Zayn has at his house ―

his toothbrush by the sink, clothes woven into Liam’s wardrobe, boots by the door, sketchpads in every room, a soiled mug in the kitchen

― and something sinks into Liam’s next breath. It fits into his lungs. How Zayn’s left a bruise on Liam’s life.

These little footprints all over Liam’s heart.

There’s not a cloud hanging over Surrey, the sun bright and infectious through the windows. It stirs over Zayn’s shape and Liam hasn’t been able to lick off this grin yet.

He wonders, absently, if the world deserves to get a look at all of this.

His home. His life. His Zayn.

“Being a bit of a creeper this morning? Thought better of you, Payno,” Paddy mumbles, yawning, patting Liam’s shoulder as he passes.

Liam bites down on a laugh. He turns on his heels, Zayn still unaware, lost in the music and paint.

“Shut it, you git,” Liam sighs, following Paddy down the hall. “I need tea and me phone.”

“Angry texting Niall?” Paddy asks.

Liam smiles fondly. “Best to give him a ring. He’s probably suffering at the A&E by now.”

“You’re cruel.”

Liam laughs manically and, suddenly, he doesn’t feel as poorly as before.

(not that watching Zayn’s a cure for any of it, but, well.)

 

++

 

It’s mad how Liam has to do this ―

Late night raids at a Tesco. Before sunrise trips to stores for private fittings or shutting down a Topman store for a few hours.

Anything to avoid the attention now. To prevent a mob or causing a tidal wave of anger on Twitter for not bothering to pose for a photo or sign an autograph.

But Liam sort of like _this_ ― an empty supermarket in the middle of the night. A Sainsbury’s bathed in fluorescent lights and cheesy tunes blasting through the shitty overhead speakers. Mostly bare aisles, a few other shoppers milling about the dairy section or lingering by the crisps.

Just him and his boy. And Paddy, too.

He follows a few yards behind them, arms folded over his chest, narrowed eyes like he’s unamused but it’s an act. Liam can see through it. He keeps catching Paddy’s lips twitching into a half-grin while Zayn argues with Liam about curry.

“You’re mad,” Zayn sighs.

Liam shrugs, tossing a frozen pizza into the cart. “I’m _starved_.”

Zayn snorts, shaking his head. “An international pop star and you buy oven pizzas?”

Liam bites over his sheepish smile, hip-checking Zayn aside to navigate the cart down the aisle. “I’m a shit cook,” he reasons, tilting his head. “Saves time?”

Zayn giggles, matching Liam’s lazy stroll through the store. He’s never far, always stepping in just an inch, until their elbows brush or their shoulders graze or where he can fasten one hand to the cart, next to Liam’s.

_Closer_ , his warmth vibrating in a way Liam loves.

“Order in?” Zayn suggests.

Liam rolls his eyes, stealing a box of frozen waffles from a freezer. “It’s the same, innit?”

Zayn shrugs, licking at his lips. He catches his lower lip with his teeth, kneading it softly.

“I can cook?”

Liam raises his eyebrows, grinning at the speckle of pink that rushes Zayn’s cheeks.

“When I come over, y’know?” Zayn says, like a joke, just a bit of banter but ―

His shoulders go tight, his hand rubbing at the nape of his neck like he’s gone bashful. Nervous, really. He drags his Doc Marten’s on the shiny floor, squeaking black marks as he goes.

“Yeah, cool,” Liam mumbles, leaning in.  “I’d like that,” he adds, ducking his head. The tip of his nose brushes Zayn’s cheek and he knows there’s no one around.

They haven’t seen a single shopper for aisles now and Liam’s willing to risk it to feel the way Zayn relaxes. He smacks a quick, playful hand to Zayn’s bum, laughing when Zayn jumps. He ducks the punch Zayn throws at his shoulder, racing down the aisle with a yelp.

 

++

 

“Cheerio’s or Weetabix?”

Zayn’s shuffling from foot to foot in the middle of the cereals aisle. He’s gnawing his lip, tilting his head to look at all of the boxes.

“Babe,” Liam groans, holding up two boxes, giving them a small shake.

“What if Louis comes by?” Zayn wonders.

Liam scrunches his brow, huffing out a laugh. “What about ‘im?”

Zayn hums, leaning over the cart. “He might want Coco Pops? Or Crunchy Nut? And then you won’t have ‘em and he might ― “

Liam moans, shaking his head. Zayn is absolutely ―

He’s annoyingly _considerate_ is what he is. Sincere and determined to think of everyone ( _anyone_ ) but himself.

It drives Liam mad in the most adoring way.

He grabs five different brands, chucking each into the cart, smacking a loud peck to Zayn’s temple.

“Why do I tolerate you?” he asks, smiling, leading Zayn and the cart towards the boxes of dried pasta.

“Cause I make your life interesting,” Zayn replies, cheekily, smirking. “I’m hardly boring.”

“Nah,” Liam sighs, their hips bumping as they move, “I think it’s the spectacular head you give.”

Zayn scowls and Liam laughs all the way up a new aisle, dragging his fingers over the products, studying the different brands of pasta.

“I’ve never been so _insulted_ ― “

“Oh, shush, you,” Liam says, smiling wider, crooked. “Don’t be cross. ‘s a compliment.”

Zayn lowers his shoulders, mumbling under his breath, reaching past Liam for a box he approves of. He drops it in the cart, staying pressed to Liam’s side.

It’s small, the sort of gesture Liam’s certain no one would notice but, well, he likes it. He fancies the way Zayn feels comfortable with him, in public, practically beaming each time Liam gives him a stray touch. On accident, of course, but still.

He catches every single one of Zayn’s lip-splitting grins and lingers just a little longer over him until Zayn’s cheeks can’t beat any redder.

“If I’m being honest,” Liam says, his voice low as he tugs off his snapback. He twists it onto Zayn’s incredibly messy, flat hair, turning it backwards. “I reckon I enjoy how you make me feel,” he adds, tossing an arm around Zayn’s shoulders.

Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up and he blinks a dozen times too many at Liam.

Liam bites down on his lip, holding in a laugh. Warm blood soothes the chill he gets from the dairy aisle.

“You do?”

Zayn’s voice is tight, the way you get after a long drag off a spliff.

Liam licks at his lips, nodding. “Think that’s what being in love is like, boy wonder.”

It’s silly, ridiculously daft but Liam leans down to press a kiss to Zayn’s forehead, under the snap of his hat. His stubble scrubs roughly at Zayn’s skin and he exhales a giggle when Zayn whines.

But he stays like that, an arm loose around Zayn’s shoulders, one hand on the cart, Zayn helping him push it down a few more aisles. Paddy humming Madonna behind them, pretending to hate every second of this.

 

++

 

“Donuts?” Zayn asks in the middle of the bakery.

There’s Sting on the overhead speakers this time and, for a fond moment, Liam thinks about Niall. The way he gets his voice all gritty and deep to sing this tune during vocal warm-ups. Driving Savan mad and getting Harry to join in, even though he doesn’t know half the words.

Paddy’s still hanging back, browsing through some magazine with a pretty model on the cover.

Liam drums his fingers on the handlebar of their cart. It’s nearly full now, stuffed with a dozen things Liam’s certain he doesn’t need but willingly lets Zayn toss in.

“Biscuits, you donut,” he smiles, flicking the end of Zayn’s nose.

Zayn huffs, bagging up a few different donuts in retaliation.

Liam shrugs, banking a laugh in his chest. He grabs a bag of chocolate chip biscuits, rounding the pastries, thinking of his mum and sisters. All of their late-night baking sessions and burning a pie last Christmas.

He feels Zayn’s warmth but he realizes how close he is. Their elbows knock, soft, the music hushing to announce closing hours. Zayn’s tongue drags over his lips and, nervously, he links a few of their fingers between their hips. Shyly, he tries to tangle them like knots.

Like he’s fighting the tide.

It’s strange, the way Liam’s heart races. His palms start to sweat and he _almost_ ―

“D’you want a family some day? After all the madness?” Zayn asks, clearing the nervous wobble in his voice. “Ever thought about settling down?”

Liam’s fingers twitch to wrap around Zayn’s. There’s a lump in his throat he tries to swallow around. He _can’t_. He can feel the stutter in his chest and it’s so uncomfortable.

“Always thought that’s what would happen for me,” he replies, finally, stretching out his fingers. “I sorted out I’d just be that lad from the group that would get a house. Be a bit normal, y’know? Have a family.”

Zayn stays quiet, looking down, smiling.

Liam feels calm in that moment, staring at Zayn. “Always wanted to have a life like me parents,” he admits. “A family. A few lovely kids, like they had with me sisters and me.”

A soft laugh brushes Zayn’s lips and he nods slowly. He blinks up, his grin going crooked. Something honey and bright in his eyes.

Fuck, Liam just wants to kiss him.

Paddy clears his throat, noisy, carefully narrowing his eyes at their hands. Their twitching fingers.

Liam sniffs, nodding. He finally swallows, turning his eyes away.

“Paps might catch us, yeah?” he hums, scratching at the back of his head with his spare hand. “Ready for that?”

There’s an ocean of silence, filled with Coldplay and the final call over the speakers. He can almost hear Zayn’s heartbeat from here, out of rhythm, unfamiliar.

(nothing like it is when he’s curled around Liam in bed, asleep and happy)

Its seconds before Zayn unlaces their fingers, his hand dropping away. Liam hesitates before he looks at Zayn, but it’s a bit late.

“Nope,” Zayn says, quick, nervously, already walking towards the front checkout.

Liam drops his chin. Right. He knows better. He’s not daft. He has responsibilities.

“Fuck,” he mutters, pushing the cart behind Zayn’s trail of scuff marks from his Doc’s on the floor.

 

++

 

_‘after you let it in we’ll be skin to skin it’s just so natural ― wait a second’_

The bassline kicks in Liam’s ear, drowning all of his thoughts. But he can still make out all of the little noises ―

Soft keening above him, Zayn biting on his lip to stay quiet.

It drives Liam mad, stirring his arousal, making all of his muscles ache to give Zayn more.

The tip of his tongue swirling, flicking repeatedly, pressing up until it sinks into Zayn’s hole.

It takes a bit of encouraging to get Zayn like this. A quiet invitation made of Liam’s kisses, slow and wet over Zayn’s abdomen. Whispers along Zayn’s hip while he eased Zayn out of his jeans, dragging down a nice pair of Topman briefs. Soft promises that it’ll be _good_. For both of them.

Persistent brushes of his tongue across Zayn’s balls, arms circling Zayn’s thighs, lifting him up and over. Warm breaths over his perineum, nudging Zayn up, patiently waiting while Zayn hovered over his face.

A hard blush over Zayn’s cheeks that he tried to hide behind his elbow when he straddled Liam’s face.

Slow, slow breaths and Liam mouthing at Zayn’s arse cheeks until his knees finally gave out, sinking down onto Liam’s tongue.

Until he was very carefully riding Liam’s face.

( _‘see daddy’s on a mission to please ― ’_ in their ears)

“Liam,” Zayn hisses, struggling between pulling away and rubbing his hole over the broad surface of Liam’s tongue.

He’s still nervous, muscles coiled, breaths tight in his chest.

Like it’ll be too much for Liam; or he’ll suffocate him.

(fuck, it’s all Liam _wants_ )

Liam hums gently, swiping his tongue back and forth, loving how the wet drips back down onto his chin. He squeezes his fingers into the meat of Zayn’s thigh, pulling him back down, shoving his tongue back in.

Zayn’s loose, his hole clenching every few seconds when Liam teases it, but he’s so fucking _open_ for it.

Muscles relaxing around the constant intrusion of Liam’s tongue.

It’s well painful, craning his neck to lick deeper, stupidly forgetting to grab a pillow to stuff under his head before he brilliantly thought to do this.

But the ache in his neck is just a passing thought when he hears Zayn whimper.

A stutter in his breath as he drags himself over Liam’s tongue, a little more willing, a gentle confidence.

Liam’s got his prick in his spare hand, slowly wanking off, feeling the shivers from his thighs to his toes. Smearing precome around with his thumb, keeping a loose hold around himself. He knows better than to add too much pressure because ―

This feeling is intense. Eating Zayn out, letting him gently ride Liam’s tongue, casually pulling off to all the noises Zayn makes.

He trembles more than Zayn while doing this ― getting Zayn off with just his tongue.

It’s bloody arousing, all of Zayn’s little whimpers, that whine at the back of his throat he keeps holding onto.

The way Zayn almost bucks away from Liam’s tongue, too stimulated, before he gingerly lowers back onto it.

“Shit,” Liam exhales, sucking in a few breaths.

Zayn’s scent stains his mouth, musky and clean from a shower. He snuffles his nose over the skin behind Zayn’s balls, smiling, his stubble burning Zayn’s skin pink.

“Fuck,” Zayn babbles, leaning on the headboard. He’s still hiding his face on his arm but his inhibitions fade.

He fucking _shivers_ for Liam’s tongue.

Liam spares a hand to Zayn’s arse, spreading the cheeks, shuffling down to get a proper view. His hole dripping with Liam’s saliva, fluttering, shiny and well ready for more.

A laugh slips over Liam’s lips, teasing, taunting Zayn a bit before he’s pulling him down.

Liam can’t explain it but ― his cock spits out messy precome and it throbs mercilessly between his fingers.

Like all he needs is to hear Zayn get a little louder and feel him clench up around Liam’s tongue.

“Christ,” Zayn hisses, reaching down, pulling absently at Liam’s hair.

It stings but Liam refuses to jerk away. He moans, properly turned on, mouthing obscenely at Zayn’s hole until he’s incoherent. He’s fucking trembling above Liam, brushing fingers through Liam’s hair rather than yanking.

“Good lad,” Liam mumbles, flattening his tongue over Zayn’s hole. “C’mere. C’mon, ‘s alright.”

His fingers find Zayn’s thigh again, pulling, directing Zayn’s body without much struggle. His cock flexes in his palm, fattening up, so close.

He turns his head to breathe, biting little marks to the inside of Zayn’s thigh. He strokes a little faster, firmer. He can feel the build in his belly and it’s overwhelming.

The thud of the music and Zayn’s heavy breathing and he feels raw, shredded.

His toes curl and he thinks to stop himself until Zayn, soft and whimpering, begs, “Make me come, babe.”

Liam growls with it, his heart canting out a pounding beat, his mouth dragging back to Zayn’s hole. He can hear the slick drag of Zayn’s hand over his own cock. His hips twitch but he never strays too far.

Just pressed neatly against Liam’s tongue, grinding down on it.

He soothes a hand to the dip in Zayn’s spine, giving a small push, seating Zayn over his tongue and ―

“Liam, shit, deeper.”

He breathes harshly, this supernova heat in his belly finally overwhelming. It unsettles him, how quickly he comes at the breathy moans Zayn exhales. His body trembles and he whines over Zayn’s hole.

Liam jerks his hand away from his cock, curling his arms under Zayn’s thighs, pulling him over his tongue. His dick pulses out come without him touching it, up his belly, messy and aimless.

He opens his mouth around Zayn’s hole, fucking his tongue up, sweating, gasping.

All he can hear is _‘baby let’s get naked just so we can make sweet love’_ and Zayn’s strained whimpers.

His fingers flex over Zayn’s hips, brushing over the bone, closed eyes fluttering when he feels Zayn tense.

A small shift, Zayn gasping, his bum resting on Liam’s chin when he starts to come. He’s got poor aim, staining the headboard, nearly missing Liam’s absolutely wrecked hair. This hollow echo in his throat, a rattling breath, that Liam smiles at.

“S’better,” he coos, blinking his eyes open, exhaling hard when Zayn trembles through his orgasm.

The room spins anti-clockwise and he’s barely got a grip on his breath when Zayn crawls off him. He feels rooted to the bed and floating at the same time.

(it’s that feeling Louis tried to describe after he’d done a kegger one night and some girl slipped him a colorful pill he downed with a side of cider)

“Alright?” Zayn asks, nuzzling down into the sheets next to him.

Liam blinks a half-dozen times at the ceiling. He’s still breathless. He drags the back of his hand over his mouth, licking at his lips. A laugh bubbles out of his chest.

“Fucking brilliant,” he replies.

_Overdosed_. Drugged out on how bloody spectacular it felt to nut off at getting Zayn off.

Zayn cuddles under one of Liam’s arms, sighing contently. The curve of his smile touches Liam’s cheek.

Liam’s fingers, absently, slip into Zayn’s hair. It’s sweaty, damp at the roots, soft like he’s hopped out of the shower. His thumb traces the wrinkles in Zayn’s brow.

“Was thinking,” Zayn starts and it’s fuzzy like he’s mumbling, “wanted t’ chill after class later in the week? Could come by. Show you some of my end of term artwork?”

Liam’s eyes lose a bit of focus on the ceiling. He casually tilts his head to look at Zayn. At how his teeth play along his full bottom lip and the inch of nerves around his mouth but his body language is relaxed.

He’s so calm next to Liam.

“Can’t, darling,” he finally whispers, stretching out. The sheets are sticky and warm from their sweat but he doesn’t mind. Not with Zayn tucked so close.

“I’ve some appearance t’ make,” he sighs, watching Zayn’s face slowly fall. “Some Victoria’s Secret thing, I guess. Agreed to go ‘cause Nialler refused. Thought it’d be weird, with Ellie and Ed going or summat.”

Zayn swallows, still chewing his lip red.

Liam thinks to ask him to stop, out of worry. Out of guilt, really. Instead, he thumbs at Zayn’s chin until his lip pops out, exhaling with Zayn.

“Maybe the weeked or summat?” he offers.

Zayn nods, looking sheepish.

That uncomfortable feeling sits fat and full in Liam’s belly once more. It prickles at his skin until he’s itching for a cigarette. Something to clear his head.

“Hey, boy wonder,” he says, stroking his fingers at Zayn’s chin until he looks right at Liam. “S’nothing, okay? I want to, like. Me and you, alright? I want that.”

There’s a moment where Liam feels cold, terrified. It scales his muscles and he doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. He’s not sure why this has gone from being _easy_ to unnerving but ―

Zayn gives him a small nod, a half-grin flicked over his mouth.

He cuddles in, letting Liam curl both arms around him. He’s half-laying on Liam’s chest and ―

It feels incredible, honestly.

“So,” Zayn says, looking spectacularly amused, drumming his fingers off Liam’s chest, “best t’ have another go, shouldn’t we? Wouldn’t want y’ t’be walking around with a stiffy ‘cause of all those sexy models, yeah?”

Liam chokes out a laugh. “I can’t keep up with you,” he sighs, rolling them over until he can press Zayn down into the sheets. He hovers over him, a smirk kissing his lips, admiring the inky halo of Zayn’s messy hair and the way he grins back.

Fuck, he doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore but he’s okay with this.

 

++

 

Liam loves driving through the city at night.

Neon signs winking off the windows of his Lamborghini. The shine of traffic lights gleaming over the wet concrete like the blinking reds and ambers of Christmas. The closer he gets to Knightsbridge, the vivid colors coming alive. The stadium glow of Piccadilly Circus along his windshield. The dying buzz of London falling into a slumber. Frank Ocean on the radio ―

He’s caught in a feeling, listening to the grit of _‘it’s a bad religion this unrequited love’_ and watching the sky burn ink dark.

It’s a little helpless ― the way Zayn crosses his mind. That crooked smile Zayn gets when a tune he loves comes on. The rasp of his voice going full when he thinks Liam doesn’t notice. But Liam’s always paying attention.

He refuses to miss a moment when Zayn’s around.

There’s this hot feeling in his gut. This carousel his life keeps turning on, except he can’t seem to get off. It’s just dizzying. The way he’s always sacrificing ― for the lads, for his family, at management’s request, for all the fans. Little pieces of himself chipped away until he’s molded into something he’s, well, he’s _not_.

And he loves his boys, honestly, but the road at night is empty. Sometimes, when he’s alone in another strange hotel room, watching another hour of shitty late night telly programs, he remembers this career is lonely. Not on purpose, but still.

Truthfully, he can’t imagine doing this alone, now.

He pulls to a bright red light, somewhere in the veins of the city. He recognizes some of the shops but he doesn’t really give it much attention.

Instead, he scrolls through the messages on his phone. Texts from Andy, a few from Tom Queens about partying. A bar or some new club they’re promoting. Liam sniffs, digging his teeth into his lip.

Briefly, he considers it. Drowning the night out with whiskey, maybe some of those colorful drinks Louis loves.

He sucks in a shallow breath, furrowing his brow. Weirdly, he thinks about walking through the Funky Buddha with Zayn at his side. On his arm. Stripped of those nerves and brushing his smile over Zayn’s neck while all the paps blind them with camera lights.

_Shit_.

Liam drives for a few more streets, rolling his shoulders, shaking off those thoughts. All of his thoughts, actually.

He doesn’t like that weighed down feeling that comes with them. He doesn’t like how his chest tightens, is the thing.

There’s an all-night coffee shop, a blinking neon sign and pale yellow on the inside, he pulls into. It seems cozy and mostly deserted, except for the bundle of uni girls giggling madly over foamy cups, caught up in their caffeine high.

He ducks his head, pulling up the collar of his leather jacket, thankful for his snapback because hopefully he won’t ―

“Oh my God.”

“Christ.”

“It’s him, right? Shouldn’t be. But it’s _him_ , innit? Fuck, Molly, ‘s him, yeah?”

Liam bites over his lip, tips the employee a tenner, even if his coffee is only a few quid. He relaxes his shoulders, spins on his heels, cocking his head in a fond manner. The swoons are immediate and he feels bashful, cheeks pink, lips spun up in a massive grin.

They’re all nice, the lot of them, whispering between each other as he autographs a few napkins. He pulls goofy faces, sticking out his tongue, puffing out his cheeks for a few photos. His smile feels so genuine, the buzz of the late night and the feel of this intimate crowd ―

This part doesn’t feel like a job. Not always. He loves the way he can be himself a bit more without the other lads around. How he feels _important_ , even if some of the girls ask about Harry’s whereabouts and one girl coos over Niall’s eyes for a beat.

He laughs it all off, buying the girls a round of coffees, ducking off with a tiny wave.

The streets are soaked from an earlier rain, the air still fresh with that metallic and damp scent he likes. It smells green, if that makes any sense.

He cruises leisurely to an empty carpark, keeping the radio on when he hops out. The view of the city from the bonnet of his car isn’t spectacular ― everything dim with bits of color around the edges. But it’s nice.

It’s simple, quiet.

He watches, having a smoke, draining his coffee (its shit, the flavor off, too little sugar) while thumbing through his phone. He pulls up Twitter, for the fuck’s sake of the moment, sighing. He can hear the 1975 thrumming inside the car and half of a smile lifts his lips.

It’s embarrassing, even by himself. How quickly he thinks of that boy. A life he’s not certain he’ll ever really be able to live with him.

His teeth bruise his lip and he exhales out a heavy cloud of smoke, thumbing out a tweet before he can fully regret it ―

**@Real_Liam_Payne:** _‘Can’t be without you.’_

 

++

 

There’s a certain sort of buzz inside the Funky Buddha that Liam doesn’t mind. In fact, it calms the monster in his chest. Only a little, but it’s enough.

It’s a Thursday crowd, nothing grand. Just short of being overcrowded, but the atmosphere is throbbing. There’s a nice mix of Pitbull on, the lights spinning and the dance floor stuffed. He’s lost track of Tom and the lads from back home, their endless need to be noticed and drunk in the sea of people nothing he’s in the mood for.

They all have their vices ― him and the boys. Their little escapes. All this pressure building in their blood. This rebellion in their lungs.

Niall and his quiet, filthy one-offs to keep him feeling anonymous. Louis and his frequent packs of Kools ― chain smoking his way through the anger, resentment. Harry and his brief tabloid-ready relationships in the lull between tours, the gaps of not being on stage.

This blitzkrieg they keep falling into. A way out.

Liam’s is Jack and fizzy cola. On ice. Trashy whiskey when he can’t be bothered. Any sort of alcohol to catch the buzz, right? He’s not sure it helps but the numbness settles in after a bit.

He’s sat in a corner booth of the VIP, nodding to the music. The brim of his snapback is cocked down to hide some of his face. He slumps on the high-end vinyl, feet propped on the table meant for buckets of ice and bottles he’s probably already purchased. He’s not sure. He stays focused on the icy bourbon in his hand.

A Drake tune comes on, familiar. His lips quirk lazily. He’s meant to have a low profile tonight but he knows people have started to notice. A few casual photos at the bar with a pair of girls, some high-fives and fist bumps from faces he should probably know on his way to the loos. Nothing huge. But there’s at least a dozen pair of eyes waiting for him to be _‘that bloke from the boy band’_ and, luckily, he’s used to that.

Making a show of himself here. Smiling and laughing in one too many photos. Draining his buzz on the dance floor.

Not tonight, however. He doesn’t want any of it.

Just a constant buzz to heighten the numbness; that’s all.

He orders up another drink, less ice, an orange juice and vodka for Andy.

Liam’s been thumbing through his phone for the last five minutes, _every five minutes_ , actually. Scrolling through Twitter, a few posts on Instagram. Nothing, really.

Andy makes a noise, a garbled laugh, taking a healthy gulp from some expensive bottle of champagne Liam splurged on but hasn’t had a sip of yet. “Liam Payne, millionaire. Big time. Cool as fuck playboy, yeah?” Andy shouts, still laughing. “Wasting away a night on the piss for his bloody mobile.”

Liam cocks up his chin, squinting at Andy.

Admittedly, Andy’s a bit of an asshole when he’s nearly drunk but Liam’s done this enough times before ―

He can handle Andy. It’s what best mates do.

Andy’s mouth slides lopsided, all teeth and pink tongue. “Where’s boy wonder?” he asks.

Liam tenses automatically. It’s like frostbite in his lungs. His jaw clenches before he clucks his tongue.

“He’s got studies,” he sniffs, his voice clipped.

Andy cackles, deep and rough, spilling a bit of his drink. It’s comical, if Liam could be bothered to laugh. He takes his new drink instead, tipping the waitress, offering her one of those cheap, artificially-practiced smiles he’s perfected.

“Right,” Andy breathes, scooting in closer. Their feet knock on the table. “Still a bit too young t’ get in ‘ere, isn’t he?” There’s a teasing grin on his lips, far from harmful.

Liam drags his eyes away, shrugging stiffly. He knocks back his drink in one swallow. He orders another before the waitress can get too far because ―

That’s it.

It’s all anyone will ever see ― Zayn is _young_. He’s a bloody kid. He’s hardly lived enough to understand Liam or this life but ―

Zayn does. He recognizes bits of Liam’s life in ways none of his mates ever did. And he’s brilliant. So fucking creative. This arrogant little rebel when he wants to be, but around Liam, he’s vulnerable. Bashful and goofy.

This bloody firefly you try to catch between your palms to watch the light burn brightest.

Liam’s halfway through another drink, barely tasting the flavor, when Andy stammers, “Bro. Alright, sorry. Honestly, Liam, he’s great, man.”

His eyebrows lift lazily at Andy, his tongue licking off the bitter alcohol from his mouth. He sniffs, again, slouching.

Andy nods, pressing out a smile. “I like the bloke. He’s cool to bullshit around with. Let’s me win at video games, even though I think he’s shit at ‘em, anyway. He’s chill.”

Liam drags a hand down his face, stretching out. He scratches at his thickening stubble. It’s all meant to be easy, he thinks, this _thing_. He’s not to feel so defensive or uncertain. He puffs out a breath of air, feeling restless.

Andy pokes his knee, leaning in. He’s sluggish, big and broad, knocking elbows with Liam before he says, “He makes you different.”

Liam snorts, ignoring how loud his heart is in his ears.

“In a great way, mate,” Andy adds, his laugh coming out like an exhale. “He makes you pretty fucking wicked, man, which is like impossible ‘cause you’re a bloody tosser, bro.”

Liam grins. It’s not the alcohol, he thinks, so he goes with it. Drags a hand through Andy’s damp hair, catching in the tangles. He doesn’t need him to say anything else. It’s unnecessary.

They settle like that, knees touching, Liam keeping one hand in Andy’s hair while scrolling through his phone again.

(He won’t admit it out loud but he hopes Zayn is still awake.)

(because Liam can’t get him off his mind and that’s another vice he hasn’t grown into, yet)

 

++

 

Liam knows there’s a certain kind of buzz at events like this, in London. It’s the first time the Victoria’s Secret Fashion show has come here. There’s a hum in the atmosphere that intensifies his nerves, even if he’s not performing or doing anything more than making an appearance, posing for a few photographs.

He still feels this electric pulse under his skin that makes him a bit uncomfortable, nervous.

In the middle of a bright pink carpet, he bites at his lip, watching the chaotic parade of celebrities, feeling a bit out of place. He knows _why_ he does things like this ― shows up for events during their downtime. Anything to keep them relevant, right? He’s a brand, just one-fourth of a band.

(most of the paps can’t distinguish him from Louis or Niall, most days, he’s aware)

But Liam smiles for all the cameras, trying to relax his shoulders, feeling absolutely smashing in this tailored suit Caroline pulled out for him.

(he likes the velvet of the jacket, the fit of the trousers, the way he feels a bit, well, _expensive_ in it)

“Liam! Over here!”

He swallows, a put upon grin, cheeks pushing just at his eyes until they crinkle some. It feels weird, without the boys, always does. He’s used to Louis pulling a face or Harry standing clumsily to his left, Niall flanking his right with bright, outrageously blonde hair and a neat pair of trainers on.

This is different but he doesn’t seem to mind as much.

He thinks, belatedly, it’s because most of the attention is on _her_ rather than him. Even if she’s off to the side, smiling sweetly next to Paddy, curving just enough into a few pictures to be noticed. He thought it best to bring her to something like this.

She fits into the scene, the blitz of camera flashes and all the talk about fashion (which is more than chats about knickers and heels, he’s told on the drive here). He’s more watching football in your pants, having a drink with your mates, but she’s a cheeky smile, posh dresses, loves the gold of a good spotlight.

“And who’s she?” a reporter asks, in the middle of some standard interview.

Liam gives a look over his shoulder, laughing. “Who? Soph?” he wonders, breathing out.

“Yes. Sophia, is it?”

Liam nods, shrugging. “She’s a mate from back home. Known her a good bit. Sweet girl.”

“Girlfriend?” the reporter (Caroline? Or maybe Lucy? He doesn’t remember, actually) hums, shoving her microphone at him.

“No,” Liam snickers, shaking his head. His cheeks are probably an ugly stain of red, his shoulders going tighter when he giggles. He keeps fiddling with his watch, pulling at the sleeves of his jacket. “She studies fashion,” he offers as an explanation, sniffing. “Sorted she’d fancy something like this, for school.”

The reporter nods, slow, narrowing her eyes with a clever smile like she thinks otherwise ―

In his mind, Liam knows what management wanted. It’s quite obvious, actually. How _‘appropriate’_ it would look if he strolled over this stupidly pink carpet with a rather striking girl on his arm. A diversion, truthfully. A picture-ready image for the media to eat up:

**_‘Liam Payne and the sweet girl from back home,’_** he imagines the headlines would read.

The reporter ( _Helen_ , that’s it) clears her throat, inching out a counterfeit smile, wonders, “But are you dating someone?”

Liam can’t quite help his smile.

“Someone special in your life, yes?”

He giggles, rubbing at his stubble, giving a lazy shrug. His heart pushes awkwardly in his chest, fast and hammering. He exhales, softly, nodding, “Yeah. Um. Well, uh, there might be a bit of that going on. Sort of like to keep it a bit private, though, y’know?”

Helen smiles, broad and curious, like she’s onto something.

“No need to chat about me boring home life when you’ve got all these amazing models around, yeah?” he puts in, his cheeks heating up, eyes crinkling. He laughs instead of breathing, shrugging because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Thankfully, Paddy steps in, taps his shoulder, motions up the carpet. Liam grins, bowing towards Helen, thanking her before following Paddy. He doesn’t breathe (not fully) until he’s halfway up the carpet, a sweaty hand pressed to the small of Sophia’s back.

There’s a hundred more paps flashing photos of them, barking, pleading for them to pose.

He’s gracious about it all, stopping, keeping her close enough with his hand low on her back ―

She’s a nice girl, always has been. The sort that would look amazing in photos, in the newspapers but ―

_No_.

He flinches, briefly. His mind races a tad too much, but he keeps his smile for all the pictures. He tries not to think about how nice this would be ― with _Zayn_ next to him. That awe-bitten smile Zayn would wear. All of the nerves and bashful little looks he’d give Liam, like he’s overwhelmed.

How the entire world would never know how uncertain Zayn was because he’d flick on that smug grin, flirt his way through a few interviews, charm the entire fucking universe into falling in love with him.

“Alright?” Paddy whispers to him when they’re walking again.

He sniffs, looking down at his hands. They’re shaking a little. He hates that.

“Have a car pick him up, after, yeah? Just want to ― ”

Liam can barely fit the words in his throat but Paddy’s already nodding. He doesn’t shoot Liam that questioning look he knows Liam deserves. Like he’s out of his bloody mind. Or that he’s becoming too, well, _dependent_.

A clingy bastard, he thinks.

Liam lets out a heavy breath, biting the inside of his cheek. He follows Sophia inside, keeping a distance that he hopes isn’t noticeable.

He can survive a few hours of being a stereotype, he supposes.

 

++

 

Liam knows he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit how swollen his heart gets in his chest when he pushes into his bedroom and finds Zayn ―

He’s curled around a pillow, asleep, looking soft and comfortable. Wearing a pair of oversized joggers, a snug band shirt that rucks up around his belly, his messy quiff fallen around his face. His glasses are sat crookedly on his nose, pink bottom lip pulled under his teeth.

Liam leans in the doorway, grinning. He can’t look away. Zayn is, well, _beautiful_ like this and Liam’s heart jolts behind his chest at a thought.

Coming home to Zayn cuddled like this, after being on the road for too many months.

Zayn sprawled on his bed, surrounded by a mountain of university textbooks.

Or Zayn painting in the morning, trying not to mix up his cup of tea and the mug he uses for dirty brushes.

Zayn always being around. When Liam is knackered from the road. Well excited after a night in the studio. Pulling Liam down into bed ( _their bed_ ), whispering about all the new tunes he’s found. Having a chat about all the courses Zayn’s studying ― even if Liam doesn’t understand a single one of them.

A pair of skinny arms and bright, sleepy eyes greeting him like it’s been ages, maybe just hours.

(fuck, he feels pathetic and stupidly in love but ― well, that’s not the worst thing, is it?)

Liam shrugs out of his jacket, tugs off the bowtie. Layers of product have made his hair gone sticky, softening at the ends now, but he drags his fingers through it, too exhausted to give a shit. He toes out of his shoes, padding quietly up to the bed.

His shirt is halfway undone when he crawls up, flopping down next to Zayn. His hand smooths the fringe off Zayn’s forehead, skin warm from sleep.

Liam feels completely insane, partly knackered, but he leans down and pecks a dopey kiss to the tip of Zayn’s nose, laughs fondly when Zayn mumbles, “Fuck off, you donut.”

It takes a moment, the night hanging over them, before Zayn blinks awake, sighing.

“Hi,” Liam smiles.

Zayn wrinkles his nose, lips fighting a twitch before he gently grins back.

“First thought?” Liam whispers, smoothing a hand to Zayn’s cheek, his spare hand pulling his own shirt from his trousers.

Zayn sighs, still somewhere between dreams. “My mum is gonna murder me for sneaking out t’ me boyfriend’s in the middle of the week,” he replies, his voice raw but cheeky.

Liam giggles. He scoots closer, their legs tangling. “I’ll send her a bundle of roses ― “

“Orchids,” Zayn clarifies. “She likes those.”

Liam nods. He wiggles around, wrists caught in his shirt, yanking it off in a manner that is nothing less than clumsy. He’s got pink cheeks, a wild smile when he plops back down on the bed, adding, “I’ll get your sisters and all of your cousins tickets to our next show in London. It’ll be brilliant. All will be forgiven.”

Zayn snorts, pushes playfully at Liam’s shoulder. His fingers linger, skimming up Liam’s skin, producing this sinfully quick pattern of goosebumps.

“Wanna know my first thought?” Liam asks, lowering his voice.

Zayn gives a one-shouldered shrug, cheeks lifting, shyly nod.

Liam bites over his lip, leaning in. Their foreheads touch, his hand shifting over Zayn’s hip.

“Want you to,” Liam pauses, still chewing his lower lip. It all sticks to his chest, the words, and when did this boy strip him of his _‘fuck it all’_ persona?

He moves over the bed, sitting up, pulling at Zayn’s wrists until he hesitantly follows. “C’mon,” he smiles, pulling at Zayn’s shirt, tugging the waistband of his joggers away from his hips, “want you t’ fuck me tonight, babe.”

Zayn’s eyes widen, like he’s still waking from a dream, confusion gradually settling into his expression. He’s lazy, not even slightly helpful, while Liam pulls him out of his clothes. He’s just staring.

Liam can’t help the way his cheeks burn and his lips naturally lift into a smile. It’s quite embarrassing, speaking out loud, but it’s what he wants, okay? He nuzzles at Zayn’s nose, drawing down for a kiss.

It’s slow and easy, like the kind people dream about.

Write about. Make films about.

“C’mon, boy wonder,” he says against Zayn’s lips, something cheeky in his grin, “you’ve thought about it, right?”

He doesn’t wait for Zayn to answer ― brushing his tongue over Zayn’s soft, wet lower lip. He teases Zayn’s mouth open with it, flicking at his tongue, at the after-flavor of Zayn’s cigarettes and some sugary snack he probably had.

“Getting me on my back,” Liam adds, pulling back, “or on my hands and knees.”

Blindly, he palms around the bed, through the duvet for lube, a condom in crinkled foil. He wrenches them out of what’s left of their kits. Liam kicks them away and situates Zayn down on the bed, sitting up against the headboard.

“Properly bent over,” Liam says, pulling a hand into Zayn’s hair, tugging at the ends.

Zayn whines, following the momentum until his head his cocked back, eyes focused on Liam hovering over him.

“Opening me up with your fingers like I do for you ― “

Zayn hisses, bites at Liam’s bottom lip when their mouths collide.

Liam pushes the lube into his palm, smiling over Zayn’s lips, sighing into it.

“Making me _beg_ ,” he hums.

Zayn’s fingers are cold and slippery, rubbing at Liam’s hole, his spare hand keeping Liam’s cheeks spread. It’s weird, this feeling again. Having a pair of fingers nudging over his hole, smearing something slick there. The coil in his stomach, like he can barely wait for it.

He sucks in a quiet breath, the tips of two fingers pushing in. It’s an ache he’ll bashfully admit missing, when he’s not thinking about all of this. The push, how his body tightens for a moment but he adjusts. A long hiss pushing through his teeth when Zayn’s wiggled in to his first knuckle.

Zayn bites and licks over his lower lip, keeping Liam grounded. He spreads around Zayn’s knuckles, taking a moment to adapt. To the intrusion, the dull pain. Sinking around Zayn’s fingers, keeping their foreheads knocked together.

He grunts, a trembling breath following.

Zayn’s fingers are like morphine ― finding Liam’s nerves without trying. Like he’s practiced this, on himself, a hundred times before. This corkscrew motion, in and out, the drag over Liam’s muscles. He curls his fingers, deep, wriggling them.

Liam hiccups, eyes squeezing tighter, his body lulled. He feels full and unprepared. Instinct, he thinks, makes him lean into the crook of Zayn’s fingers, searching for ―

“Fuck.”

Liam presses his forehead to Zayn’s shoulder, seated on his fingers, panting.

He feels so keyed up and ready.

“Ride them,” Zayn requests, the hot pinch of his breath over Liam’s ear so bloody teasing.

Liam bites down hard on his lip, refusing to whimper. He lifts up, just a little, shocked by how much his body craves Zayn’s fingers when he’s pulled almost all the way off. He grinds back down, swallowing, creating this lazy pace.

“Open y’self up on my fingers.”

Liam gasps, all of his oxygen a rage of fire in his lungs. He pushes up and eases down, faster, startled when Zayn teases a third finger around the rim.

This mantra of _‘more, more, more’_ in his head.

“Can I?” Zayn asks, his voice gone deep, accent richer.

It’s all too much, Liam finally whimpering, his voice a shredded mess in his throat. His spine pulls tight, like a bow, and he curves around Zayn, nodding.

There’s too much lube, leaving him slick, the noisy squelch of Zayn’s fingers shoving in and out making Liam feel _filthy_. His muscles loosen around the length of Zayn’s fingers and he tips back to grind on them again.

Anticipation builds at the bottom of his belly. His lips brush over Zayn’s ear, whispering, “Want your cock, boy wonder. Quit fucking about, alright?”

Zayn lets out a sharp breath and Liam uses it all to his advantage ―

He tugs Zayn down, pushing him onto his back, crawling up into his lap. Zayn’s too distracted, too unpracticed, so Liam tears open the foil, eases the rubber down Zayn’s length

(because he thinks, smugly, if Zayn does it, he’ll come just from the stimulation, and Liam ― fuck, he _needs_ this right now)

and smears a healthy squirt of lube over it. He eyes the trembles in Zayn’s hands when he goes for Liam’s hips, the way his stomach flexes with each breath, teeth kneading his bottom lip an apple red.

It’s _mad_ is what it is. This nervy lad under him, brow scrunched, trying to figure out what to do with his hands, how to position his legs and feet.

Liam gasps out a laugh, pushing to his knees, feeling the nudge of Zayn’s stiff prick at his hole.

Zayn’s eyes are dark, still a soft hazelnut around the rims, dilated into black moons and a little terrified.

(like he’ll be _awful_ or the way most people get their first time ― trying to be perfectionists at something most people never get right on the first try)

“Easy now, yeah?” Liam teases.

Zayn looks flustered, bruising a bright pink before he laughs. “Shut up.”

Liam grins back, nodding. He exhales hard as he sinks down onto Zayn’s dick.

It’s been far too long and the stretch is crippling for a moment. It’s a bit like holding your hand over a flame ― the burn still throbs long after you jerk away from it.

Liam gnaws at his lip, focusing his eyes on the headboard, taking Zayn in slowly. There’s a fleeting sting when the head pops in, ramping up when the swollen shaft stretches him wider.

He likes the pull, the ache strong in his belly but dulling in his chest. He settles big hands on Zayn’s heaving chest, balancing himself, letting Zayn bottom out, eventually.

Liam hums, licking at his lips, eyes fluttering shut and then open. His hands shake over Zayn’s chest and ―

“Bloody massive,” he exhales, lips quirking a tad, the feel of Zayn throbbing inside of him dizzying. “Quite the stretch, boy wonder. Got a brilliant cock.”

Zayn turns a sickening pink under him. He whacks Liam’s hip playfully.

“Not gonna sit here all night and talk about me dick, are ya?”

Liam snorts, shaking his head. He just needs a moment ― just for the burn to settle in his nerves.

The friction is nice, when Liam starts to ease himself up and down. The shaft has this delicious thickness that Liam’s not used to ― not that he hasn’t felt the ache in his jaw from going down on Zayn before, the way his throat trembles around it, but.

This feels _incredible_.

Liam furrows his brow, blinking down at Zayn. He’s bigger, fuller muscles that make him tower over Zayn’s skinny frame but ―

Zayn’s got this will, this strength in his hands and the lift of his hips, meeting Liam before he can nuzzle back down into Zayn’s lap.

“Yeah,” Liam breathes, narrowing his eyes, nodding happily.

Zayn’s fingers mold around Liam’s waist and he gives a tentative roll of his hips. Shaky, uncertain. Feet flat on the mattress, for leverage, fucking up as Liam slides down.

_Wow_.

A syncopated gasp of air flees both of them. A soft whine escapes Liam and an ecstatic grunt slips out of Zayn. He lazily flicks his hips, the motions turning restless. He’s amateurish, Zayn fucking Liam like a boy trying to impress a lover.

It’s silly, really, but Liam follows Zayn’s motions. He grinds back, feeling delirious on the pleasure.

He settles his hands on Zayn’s chest again, fingers brushing over the ink at his collarbones. He blinks hard, losing a little focus when Zayn jerks, hips smacking over Liam’s arse.

“Alright?”

Zayn nods, stiffly, wide-eyed and flushed.

Liam snorts, pushing down. He sets the pace ― slowly grinding that edge into something tribal. Carnal.

He rides Zayn, fast and smooth, until they’re nothing but harsh breaths and a squeaking mattress.

His cock bobs, rigid and dripping. It throbs, wet at the tip, when Zayn drags his eyes over it. Staring, overwhelmed by how aroused Liam is while doing this.

Grinding off on Zayn’s dick, squeezing around him.

Liam hisses, this itch in his hand just to grab himself, wank off at how _deep_ Zayn gets.

He composes himself, barely, letting his cock lurch pitifully while sliding up and down Zayn’s dick.

“Mm.”

Liam blinks down, watches Zayn bite furiously over his lower lip. Like he’s holding something in. Too proud to shout, Liam thinks.

Too quiet, like he wants to tell Liam all of his secrets.

It’s so bloody attractive.

“Fuck,” he breathes, letting Zayn jackrabbit into him for a bit.

His cock pulses, dragging precome over Zayn’s soft stomach, the friction devastating. He doesn’t think he can ―

Liam stares down at Zayn’s mouth, swollen and red. Teeth digging in. A flash of pink tongue when he licks over the bruised flesh, pulling it in his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, think I’m gonna ― “

It’s incessant, the burn in his belly. The relief of his cock rubbing over Zayn’s stomach, over and over, and he’s meant just to calm himself. His fingers wrap around the shaft, gripping, trying to hold himself together but he’s not quick enough.

His cock flexes, fat and red, and Liam stutters, “Shit, Zayn, I’m gonna.”

And Liam comes like that, unprepared, come bubbling out of the tip without his consent. He strokes off, teasing more out, squirting up over Zayn’s belly.

The shock of it all knocks him out of place and he falls forward onto an elbow, slack and trembling. He exhales hard, repeatedly, his come-stained hand pressed over Zayn’s chest, feeling his outrageous heartbeat.

(Liam wonders, unconsciously, if Zayn’s a bit in love with this moment like he is)

(with Liam being another first for him)

Zayn tips his head back, his face pinched, cheeks flushed a pale red. He’s shaking, his throat exposed, this humming heartbeat under his ribs, a strangled whimper sighed at the ceiling.

He’s coming, Liam can feel it. The way his cock swells up, throbs inside of him. All of his breaths coming out too fast, too shallow.

“S’alright, boy wonder,” Liam mumbles, smiling against Zayn’s cheek. “Calm down. Come in me. S’alright.”

He keeps his voice even, slow. Low and encouraging, the way he knows Zayn likes.

“Fuck, fuck.”

Liam laughs something short, breathy. He keeps his lips over Zayn’s cheek, combing clean fingers into Zayn’s sweat-damp hair.

“That’s right, love. Did good. So good, got me well wrecked over that.”

Zayn groans, embarrassed, half-turning his face until their noses bump. They blink at each other, too close, the rest of the room swimming. He scrunches his nose, abashed, still shaking.

It takes him a long moment before he pulls out of Liam, clumsily tying off the condom off without looking, relaxing down into the sheets. Staring back up at Liam.

Liam grins. It’s all he can do.

It’s the only thing keeping him in gravity.

“Alright?”

Zayn gives a small nod, looking drowsy, well _fucked_ which is a bit hilarious but Liam pounds down a giggle.

Instead, he stays pressed onto his elbows, keeping most of his weight off of Zayn, letting this boy have enough space to breathe.

(because Liam knows how this can be, consuming, a bit like being in a car wreck, honestly ― you survive, thankfully, but you relive every piece of the wreckage all the time)

“First thought?” Liam asks, out of humor, maybe just to see a spot of relief in Zayn’s expression.

Zayn sighs, snorting. “You.”

It’s honest. He’s not in the least mortified, like Zayn usually is, and Liam sucks in a tight breath at how simply Zayn responds.

He gives Zayn a nod before lowering himself fully on Zayn. It’s weird, covering Zayn but feeling so surrounded by this boy.

Liam quite likes it, strong and vulnerable, the fuzzy contrast.

(he’ll tell Zayn all about it, one day, when he doesn’t feel so overwhelmed by it all)

 

++

 

“What would you give up if you were in love, mate?”

They’re sat shoulder to shoulder, he and Niall, on the steps to his house. Their breaths are visible white clouds in front of them. The sky is a heavy grey, pale like fading photographs. There’s fresh snow littering everything ― paper cutout flakes all over the yard. The air is fresh, a sharp cold, the flavor of spearmint.

Zayn and Louis are trying to skateboard over the icy driveway, tripping and falling like mad idiots. Harry’s sprawled out in the frosted yard, making snow angels and catching flakes on his tongue as they pinwheel down.

Niall knocks his elbow against Liam’s, hacking out a laugh into his loose fist. He sniffs, the tip of his nose a sunburn red, wide eyes shiny with tears from the cold.

“Takin’ the piss out of me now?” he asks.

Liam shakes his head, smiling fondly. He takes a slow drag of his cigarette, flicking the grey ash off. They hang in the air like dead snowflakes.

“No, mate, m’serious,” he replies.

Liam holds the smoke in his throat for a moment, warming his vocal chords, tipping his head back to exhale.

Niall puckers chapped lips, shooting Liam an incredulous look. It’s brief, something cheeky bleeding through.

“Pints on the weekend?” he offers, laughing.

“Nialler,” Liam groans, affectionately, knocking the brim of Niall’s newsboy cap up. “Be honest, bro.”

Niall shrugs. “I don’t fall in love.”

Liam pouts, shoulders deflating. He honestly hates how genuinely carefree Niall is when it comes to just about anything. Except maybe footy or his guitars (his boys, too, the fond little bastard).

“But if ― “

Niall blows a deep breath into his hands to keep them warm, looking thoughtful. He shivers, scrunching his face, and Liam’s not sure if it’s from the cold or from the thought of being in love, so he cocks an eyebrow at him.

“So this is about you?” Niall wonders.

Liam gapes at him, trying not to look guilty. He gives a stiff shrug, ducking his head.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout ditching us, bro?” Niall says, half-teasing.

Liam shakes his head earnestly. “Never,” he chokes out, taking a liberal pull from his ciggy. He coughs around the smoke, rubbing numbly cold fingers at the nape of his neck. “You lot are family. You’re like, well, me brothers, eh?”

Niall smirks smugly, offering Liam a shaking fist bump, knuckles rough and pale.

His pink tongue licks out, scraping against chapped lips, before he says, “Dunno, mate. S’pose whatever would keep me happy, I’d throw the rest away.”

Liam nods along, letting his cigarette hang between his fingers, dragging his eyes over Zayn in the distance.

He seems so happy, goofy with pink cheeks and an absently wide smile. Running around the yard, chasing Louis through the snow, his laughter cracking loud in the air. He’s so dizzily at home, right here.

With Liam’s boys. His only other family.

“Would you give it all up?” Niall asks, nudging Liam, smiling.

It sounds so _simple_ , like most things do from Niall. Uncomplicated. Like taking a deep breath, diving into the deep end.

Liam barely lifts his shoulders for a shrug. “Not all of it but,” he pauses, smothering this unexpected smile to the sleeve of his coat. “I worry about us ― the band. How things could get mucked up if ― ”

Niall clears his throat, soft but loud. He knocks his shoulder to Liam’s before sighing.

“Do whatever makes you feckin’ happy, Payno. We’ll support ya,” Niall grins. “Family, ‘member?”

Liam takes a short drag, blowing the smoke out. He drops his cigarette, stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. He tries a smile but he knows it’s unconvincing.

It feels forced and Niall’s always been brilliant at seeing through all of Liam’s little tricks.

“Who gives a shit what the world says, bro?” Niall adds. “You’re a legend and ‘m sure our fans want you happy.”

Liam nods, slow, almost confident. His lips go crooked and wide, an honest smile.

Niall returns it, laughing.

Harry stumbles up, looking well content, like a child. An awful beanie tugged down over his head, nearly covering his eyes. Fully pink cheeks and sharp dimples and a massive scarf wrapped thickly around his neck. He falls into their laps, oversized and gangly, the same Harry that Liam’s certain he fell in love with sometime before those nights at the bungalow.

“Grimmy rung me up last night,” he starts, another mindless story like usual, “he was well drunk.”

“What’d he want?” Niall asks, humoring him.

Harry smirks, sighing. “A hook-up.”

“Again?” Liam asks, indignant, Niall barking out a scratchy laugh.

Harry shrugs, playing naïve but he’s quite the opposite. He’s got the whole world fooled, Liam swears.

“Did ya do it?” Niall inquires.

Harry sputters, smacking a gloved-hand to Niall’s already crimson cheek.

“Couldn’t, mate,” he says, hiccupping a giggle. “Saving myself for you, Nialler.”

Liam snorts, shrinking when Niall scowls at him.

“Sod off,” Niall huffs, whining loudly when Harry leans up to smack a wet kiss to his cheek.

(absolutely in love, those two, Liam thinks; always has thought)

He’s startled out of those thoughts, gasping when a snowball whirs past him, knocking the cap off Niall’s head.

“Christ! You git!” Niall shouts, instantly smiling.

Zayn’s a few yards away, already packing more snow into his hand, rounding it all out with a sharp grin, those deceiving eyes he always has before an awful idea. Or a brilliant prank, encouraged by Louis.

The same Louis whooping further back, gathering a pile of snowballs ― a wild dictator preparing for a war.

“You’ve gone mad,” Harry grumbles, climbing (well, _falling_ , really) out of Niall’s lap. He scowls at Liam, lips pouting, hissing, “He’s gone bloody mad. And he’s _your_ boyfriend.”

Liam tosses up his hands, pleading innocent, trying to garble a laugh that’s thick in his throat.

“S’not the first time you had balls tossed at your face, eh Haz?” Zayn howls.

Liam can’t help himself this time, losing himself in a fit of laughter. He hides his face in his hands, his cheeks heating up, pulling his knees to his chest.

“C’mon _Neil_!” Louis bellows, hurling a few snowballs clear across the yard.

They mostly miss, smacking the ground, but Niall still ducks. He scrambles, tugging Harry with him, going mad like a pair of fraternity lads. They’re all a bit drunk on it ― the snow, the swell of December, how freedom finally starts to sink in.

Just a bunch of kids knocking about like they’re ready to conquer the world.

(and it reminds Liam so much of a familiar feeling, ages ago, when they first started as a band)

It’s all anarchy. This war of snowballs and laughing boys and Liam refusing to choose a side (though, quietly, he roots for Zayn and his shit aim, the poor sod) while sat on the steps.

He sucks in a fuzzy laugh, feels the frost lining his lungs but this swelling feeling throbs from his heart, warming him up.

The world feels so much brighter after that.

 

++

 

Nicola huffs, peeking around the refrigerator door, pouting. “Oi, all you’ve in the fridge is red bull, protein shakes, and ale! This is _dreadful_.”

Liam sighs sleepily into his morning tea ― strong earl grey, two sugars. _Thanks mum_.

“Oh, Nic, leave ‘im be,” Karen says, giggling softly into her hand. She’s busying herself around the kitchen like she always does at the holidays.

(thumbing through old recipes, dotting over the hob, making faces at the oven, browsing all the cupboards)

Liam sips loudly on his tea, shrugging at Nicola.

His family is up from Wolverhampton for ‘ _Liam’s very first Christmas in his very own home’_ (again, thanks mum).

It’s a bit daft, yeah, but he thinks it makes everything feel cozier. A bit more lived in, he supposes. The constant banter in the kitchen and his sisters fussing over all his poorly wrapped gifts.

(Paddy offered to send them out for a professional to wrap but Liam knows better ― it’s not the holidays unless you wrap everything yourself, shit job or not)

His father humming all of his favorite carols around the house. The scent of pine and his mum’s baking. Something lit inside of his chest, like an old-fashion fire or summat.

“Don’t touch the ale,” Liam warns. “Paddy will murder you.”

Nicola clucks her tongue at him knocking the door closed with her hip, rolling her eyes.

“How d’you survive?” she asks, looking rather cross.

Liam lifts his shoulders lazily, still half-sleep, humming around his tea.

(honestly, he’s certain he could’ve done better about his food shopping habits but his mum insisted on handling all the arrangements, making a big show of everything, the way she always does when it comes to him)

“Alright, enough of that that, then, Nicola,” Karen chides, shaking a wooden spoon at her.

Nicola goes quiet, tensing out a smile until Karen turns away, Nicola sticking her tongue out at him. He flips her off and it feels so, well, _brilliant_.

Like being teenagers again.

And that glowing fire in his chest roars louder, his lips quirked up into a grin.

“Where’s Zayn?” Nicola asks, because she’s cheeky and a bit in love with Zayn, too. “That bugger is loads more fun than you.”

Liam licks the taste of tea from his lips, schooling his expression into something blank. “He’s with ― “

“Oi, it’s a cold one out there,” Ruth complains as she shuffles into the kitchen, shaking clumps of snow out of her hair. She’s mumbling feisty words under her breath, unraveling a thick scarf from her neck, shrugging out of her heavy coat.

She drops it all on the kitchen island, Karen sighing, Nicola giggling in the background.

“Where’s Zayn?” Ruth wonders, nicking Liam’s tea.

He sighs, crossing his arms, biting at his bottom lip.

“Someone’s moody,” Ruth blurts out.

“Sensitive,” Nicola teases, reaching out to ruffle Liam’s messy bed hair.

“If Zayn was here ― “

“He’s with his family. In Bradford,” Liam finally sputters, waving his arms about. “Gonna see him before New Year’s, alright? He’s just ― “

He exhales loudly, looking down at his toes wiggling over the floor, cheeks flushed a gross pink.

“He’s not here.”

“Well spotted, dork,” Ruth giggles. Nicola cackles, the noise ringing through the house.

“Shush, you two,” Karen warns, swatting at them. “Leave him be. Always picking at him, Christ, you three are terrible.”

She turns away, pressing her mouth against her shoulder, and Liam swears he can hear her muted giggling.

_This is terrible_ , he thinks.

He scrunches his brow, letting his shoulders fall. He thinks, fleetingly, he’d be better off if they all stayed back in Wolverhampton.

(Except, there’s that little throb in his marrow. This tight coil around his lungs at how much his family has taken to Zayn. How they’re always asking after him. Sometimes ringing Liam up just to have him pass the phone over to Zayn. Planning family holidays, with Zayn included, of course.

Like he’s more than just, well, _Zayn_.)

(he doesn’t know _what_ Zayn is but it’s something incredible, he promises)

“Enough of that, you two. Have a look after your father,” Karen instructs over her shoulder, “He’s messing about with that big tree and y’know how he’ll overdo it. Every year, goodness.”

“Oi, there’s gonna be garland all over,” Nicola giggles, hooking her arm with Ruth’s.

“We’ll never get all the tinsel out of the carpet,” Ruth snorts.

They stumble out of the kitchen, singing silly Christmas tunes, looking just as bright as they did when they were younger.

Liam drags a hand down his face, yawning, blinking to his left to catch his mum watching him, fondly.

“C’mere you,” she says, low and gentle. “You’ve got loads on your mind.”

He’s not sure what it is (her voice, the calm in her face, all of this weight on his shoulders) but it sinks into him. He shuffles up, trying not to look resigned or defeated. He licks at his lips, leaning next to her while she cleans vegetables.

“How do you ― ”

She shoots him an incredulous look, all of it softening into a smile, like she already knows. “I’ve watched you make that same face, for years, ever since Emily ― ”

Liam cringes, groaning pitifully.

“ ― when you stomped around the house, looking soppy and a right zombie after she broke your heart.”

“I was _ten_ ,” he mumbles. “And she didn’t break my heart.”

“You cried for three days over it,” she argues, shaking with a laugh.

Liam pouts, looking down.

“She stole my Buzz Lightyear toy,” he moans, wrinkling his nose.

Karen swats at his side, still swallowing for breaths between giggles. Her face turns affectionate, this quiet comfort she always provides, even when he doesn’t want to talk.

“Out with it, you.”

“I’ve thought, like,” he swallows, still not certain what to say. Where to begin. How to get all the words to fit into his mouth. “The lads mean the world t’ me, y’know? But, like. I’ve just been mucking about with the idea of ― “

She lifts an eyebrow smoothly, looking unbothered by all his stammering.

“What if I came out? Told everyone about, like, _me_.”

Karen hums, nodding. “Are you doing it for you or for Zayn?”

“Both,” he admits, feeling shy. No, _hesitant_. “For meself, too. I dunno but I love him, mum. Swear I do. But I love the band, too. And I ― I don’t want to fuck it all up, okay?”

“Language,” Karen quips but she’s smiling. “Those three boys care for you, darling. Wouldn’t want you so unhappy.”

Liam swallows, this little throb at his temples making him want to stop talking. Quit thinking. Let it sort itself out, alright?

“And that poor Zayn,” she grins, tilting her head. “He’s absolutely lovesick over you.”

He doesn’t know why (he does, but admitting it would be bullocks) but his cheeks heat up, his skin flushing a vivid pink.

Karen nudges his hip. “Should do whatever makes you happiest, love, trust me,” she says, her voice gone serious but still nurturing. “But you shouldn’t do any of this, even letting the world inside, if it’s for anyone but y’self. Coming out is one thing ― but ‘s about letting people in. Letting them see all of Liam James.”

Liam chews over his lip, hugging himself, listening with his eyes lowered. There’s a cluster of tears wetting his eyelashes but they don’t feel like the sad kind.

It’s the kind that prick at your eyes when you’re overwhelmed.

Exhausted, honestly. Thoroughly done with carrying this weight.

“And, my love, I don’t know if I should have to share another wonderful piece of you with the rest of the world,” Karen teases, curling a finger under his chin, lifting it. “But I don’t like to see you hide who you are, either.”

Liam stays quiet. Her fingers smudge the tears from his eyes and he feels so _calm_. Thoughtful, but calm.

Karen smiles, wide and warm. “Now, c’mon, let’s have another cuppa before your pops does something that has us all celebrating the hols at the A&E.”

 

++

 

Liam is still insanely in love with this little Chinese takeaway restaurant sat on the edge of London.

Everything outside is cast in grey, making the city look gloomy but, inside, Liam feels snug. Bright, he thinks. Like it’s hardly late December and all the thick snow is a world away and he’s happy.

Truthfully, he’s content right here.

Sat across from Zayn, watching him look up through those dark, thick eyelashes with a nervous smile. Liam nudges his foot under the table, mostly on accident but probably not.

(he likes the little reactions Zayn gives; the flinches, the soft smile, the _‘fucking idiot’_ he mumbles when he pushes back)

It’s so empty in here, most of the city still chasing that Christmas feel in their homes. Liam doesn’t think anyone would notice him, either ― not in this oversized hoody, a Chicago Bulls snapback, grungy facial hair.

He looks an awful mess but Zayn ―

He keep _staring_ at Liam. Grinning like this is the only version of Liam he needs.

It feels incredible.

Zayn is a little unpracticed with the chopsticks but Liam is almost certain it’s not the reason Zayn’s hands keep shaking.

“Hi,” he mumbles, reaching across the table, smearing honey sauce from the corner of Zayn’s mouth with his thumb.

He goes pink instantly, all of his casual-as-fuck demeanor slipping away.

Zayn sniffs, looking up. “S’nice. Being back. I mean, back here.” He waves a lazy arm around, trying to explain without the words.

Liam laughs softly, flicking his tongue over his lips. He gives a small nod, picking at his food.

“Quite different,” he says, “now that we aren’t, well, um.”

“Strangers?” Zayn teases.

Liam rolls his eyes but he gives a thoughtful nod, exhaling. “Me and my shit chat-up lines, yeah?”

“Didn’t even know you were flirting,” Zayn smiles. “Just thought you were some awfully kind knob, or summat.”

“Hey,” Liam snickers, squeezing Zayn’s knee under the table.

He doesn’t think the girl behind the counter notices or cares much for them. She’s lost on a used copy of _Divergent_ , popping her gum, headphones tugged over her ears.

“M’not shit, alright?” Liam protests with a crooked smirk.

Zayn gives a careless shrug with one shoulder. “M’still here, aren’t I?”

Liam gives a slow nod, smoothing his fingers over Zayn’s knee, picking at the loose threads where the denim is ripped.

“Sorted out your birthday yet?” Liam asks.

Zayn jolts, startling out a smile, blushing furiously when he realizes Liam’s caught on. He remembers. Doesn’t even have to add it to his phone because, well, it sticks to his mind.

(he’s thought of a dozen different ways to celebrate, things they could do, ways to make Zayn feel a bit lost on it all, but he hasn’t said a word; except to Niall, but he tells Niall nearly everything)

Sharp teeth drag over Zayn’s bottom lip, his brow scrunched. “Just figured I might, um, chill with my family? Nothing special, y’know? They sort of like t’ spoil me a bit but ― ”

Zayn’s voice drifts off, the way he gets when he’s embarrassed. He sighs, fighting with the chopsticks again.

Liam nudges him, grinning widely, raising his eyebrows like he wants to whisper _‘continue’_ while he rubs at Zayn’s knee.

Zayn clears his throat, rough and low. “Yeah, like. Um, just gonna stay at home, I s’pose. Thought maybe you’d like to, well,” he stammers, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah,” Liam breathes, keeping his laugh in his chest.

It takes a second before Zayn blinks up, smiling unevenly, his lower lip slick and red.

“Yeah?”

“Couldn’t think of anything else to do, y’know?” Liam shrugs.

Zayn nods, exhaling slowly like he’s been holding it all in.

“But, um, like,” he stutters, going pink, again. “A few days before, there’s this thing, right? This formal at me school. Stupid winter thing that, like, me and my mates always sort of take the piss at. It’s dumb.”

Liam clicks his tongue, raising his brow into soft wrinkles.

Zayn coughs and he looks sheepish before he adds, “But this year, me mates thought it’d be wicked t’ like get all dressed up. Have a go at the night, y’know? S’not my thing, but. It’s my last year before uni and, so.”

It’s all stops and starts and Liam would find it so amusing if Zayn wasn’t trembling, looking around, unfocused.

Like this is all a bit of a burden. A stretch for him.

“Could be sick or summat,” Zayn shrugs, shoulders still tight when they drop.

He abandons the chopsticks, using his fingers to grab bits of spicy orange chicken, trying to smile around a mouthful at Liam. It’s a little empty, Liam thinks, cocking his head.

He hums gently, nodding.

Zayn licks the taste away from his lips, sucking sauce from his fingers. “I wouldn’t have a date ‘cause, like ― ”

It comes out like a secret, Zayn refusing to look Liam in the eyes now.

And it all makes a bit of sense. Zayn’s nerves. How he’s been chewing out half of his words. That anxious look in his eyes, the shaking hands, all of the deep breaths.

“I mean, not that ― it’d be a wicked time. Like, maybe,” Zayn says quickly, scratching at his chin.

Liam leans back, forcing himself not to tense. He stares off at the city for a moment. A big world watching him ― waiting to see him falter. Anticipating all of his flaws.

He swallows, pulling out his phone, thumbing through his calendar. He blinks hard at the date. Through his shirt, under his ribs, he feels his pulse pick up, a pounding so loud he doesn’t even think he hears anything else.

“It’s the night of some film premiere we’ve been booked for. S’pose to, like, be _all_ of us, for once,” he says, his throat going tight. He feels a bit sick about it all, when his eyes find Zayn, watching him go still. “Don’t think, um. Dunno if I can get out of it, is the thing.”

Zayn swallows, blinking three times.

“And it might not be a brilliant idea right now, eh?” Liam adds, trying for a smile but it hurts.

It’s all bloody miserable because Zayn swallows another breath, quieter. He’s sucking his lower lip, trying not to look disappointed but his eyes give him away. Those shallow breaths he takes, making Liam feel cold. This numb feeling deep in the hollow of his stomach.

How Zayn doesn’t move. He doesn’t fiddle about or try to laugh it all off. And Liam hates how it makes him lightheaded, gutted.

And he can’t find the appropriate words to lighten the situation and ―

“I love you, babe,” he says, a little rushed, squeezing at Zayn’s knee.

Zayn nods, lowering his eyes. A shaky exhale parts his lips. “Yeah, me too,” he mumbles and it’s almost worst.

How Liam feels like Zayn’s not really saying it back. He’s saying it to _himself_ and they go so quiet after that.

It feels like they’re in two parts of the world, even if they’re sat right across from each other.

 

++

 

It takes Liam a few weeks, but he’s certain he’s not yet recovered.

Zayn is back to school and Liam uses it as an excuse for why he hasn’t dropped by. Hasn’t rung Liam up nearly every night or bothered texting. And Liam books as much studio time as he’s allowed to dull those moments alone.

He spends a week at Louis’, never talking about much, but he knows it’s obvious. Louis can tell. But he doesn’t comment and Liam doesn’t think he could love him much more for that.

Niall has him out on the town on a Saturday, with a few mates, pissing away pounds on drinks and laughs and, for a single night, Liam forgets it all.

(he wakes up with a bloody awful hangover and a missed call from his mum, Zayn too, and spends half the day under his duvet, pretending the hangover is much worse than missing some boy)

( _constantly_ missing Zayn)

They rent out a tiny studio in Sheffield for a fitting, Caroline dragging in racks and racks of suits for the premiere. Just a bunch of designer stuff she’s collected, the usual casually appropriate clothes for Niall, some top name brands for Harry.

Louis cuddles Niall on the worn leather sofa (because they have not seen each other in weeks and, by all means, they’re all a bit clingy after this sort of break) and starts up a game of FIFA between suit changes.

Caroline fusses over Louis wrinkling a pair of trousers, assistants mulling over shoe options for Niall, and it feels so _familiar_ but so ―

It’s crowded, is what it is. Stuffy in a way Liam doesn’t enjoy.

He’s out of his mind, admittedly, and he’s trying to keep the world from noticing.

(it’s working, mostly, but Caroline keeps _staring_ at him, sympathetic, and Paddy makes the worst jokes just to keep Liam laughing)

There’s an itch under his skin and Liam hates all of this. He needs out.

He sneaks off back, without Paddy, for a ciggy. For a taste of frigid January air. It’s cold and ugly out in the alley, an awful view. Just bricks and dirty snow and knocked over bins.

Each time he exhales, it’s a mix of grey and white smoke, his cigarette lighting up his lungs but doing little to warm his blood.

“Fuck, Payne, you’re _shit_ ,” he mumbles to himself, shaking his head.

He pulls out his phone, considers giving Andy a ring. A night out, a proper bender; that should help. Or just a night in, greasy pizzas with crazy toppings and drunken Monopoly and ―

Liam doesn’t know why he pulls up Twitter instead. Stupidly, he swipes through his followers, finds Zayn’s name.

He blinks at the last tweet ―

**@zaynmalik:** _‘the only thing that heals is time , how could I have ever lost you when you were never really mine , x.’_

Something clenches tight in Liam’s chest. He huffs a few draws from his cigarette but it does nothing. He feels a bit mad, hands shaking, the cold lining his lungs, freezing the smoke.

“Hiding off?”

Liam startles, turning on his heels, Harry already grinning. He shoves his curls off his face, fitting next to Liam in the alley, all of this feeling familiar.

Harry knocks their shoulders, stealing Liam’s cigarette, chucking it into the snow.

“You git,” Liam sighs, but his lips fumble up into a smile.

“Horrible habit,” Harry warns. “Been trying to get Louis to quit for ages.”

Liam smirks, rolling his eyes. “He’d do it for you.”

“No,” Harry corrects, cuddling closer. “He’d do it for the Rovers or summat. Not even for his mum, the dickhead.”

Liam snorts, nodding. He curls an arm around Harry’s broad shoulders, leaning into the cold bricks, curling his lips into a pleased smile.

“So,” Harry hums, tilting his head, “have you two broken up? Gone and mucked this thing up, Payno?”

Liam shoots him an offended look, struggling not to frown because ―

Yes, he has fucked this up. All of it. Like he’s done before.

“We’re not,” he pauses, dragging out a breath.

“Had a bit of a row?” Harry interrupts.

“Not exactly.”

Harry lifts his eyebrows before nodding. “You two don’t seem to have those. Never a tiff. Always sort of, well, _gross_ about each other, I reckon.”

Liam whines, coughing out a laugh, leftover smoke scratching at his chest. The air smells metallic and salty and he lets it sink into his lungs.

“We don’t,” he admits, feeling that throb in his chest get stronger.

He absolutely hates all of this.

“Well,” Harry drags out, his rasp thicker, “you look miserable, mate. Don’t think, whatever it is, has done you a bit of good. So fix it.”

“Fix it,” Liam repeats, laughing because it’s so bloody funny.

It’s so _easy_ and very _Harry_ , something Liam has yet to understand. Even after all these years, he can’t figure out how Harry takes all of life’s hard times and turns them into happy moments.

Harry elbows him, a put upon scowl just for Liam. “Give it a go, mate,” he insists. “He’s the best you’re gonna get, Li. And from what Louis tells me ― “

“Tommo knows?”

“Well, Niall had said ― ”

Liam groans, tipping his head back. They’ve always been awful at secrets, the four of them. It’s always a group thing. Their good moments, the breakups, the bits where they feel so bloody _wrung out_ ―

They’re terrible at hiding things from each other.

Honestly, he’s thankful for it, except when it revolves around him. Like now.

“We’ve never turned our backs on you, mate,” Harry smiles, soft and understanding. The way Harry always is. “And ‘s about time you’ve done a little something for y’self. So give it a go. Follow your heart.”

“Sound like one of them greeting cards at the supermarket, bro,” Liam laughs, feeling his chest finally expand.

He feels loose and a bit brave.

Harry shrugs awkwardly, making a face. “I’m wise.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“A bloody Socrates,” Harry hums.

“Don’t even know who that is,” Liam giggles.

Harry looks appalled and slightly amused, leaning in, pressing a tender kiss to Liam’s cheek. A smooth peck that warms Liam up. It’s daft, but he loves that about Harry, too.

Unapologetic about his affection, that one.

“Now, let’s have a chat with the lovely Caroline, yeah? See if she can’t fit you in something nice, Zayn as well,” Harry suggests, smoothing a hand around Liam’s back, leading him towards the door. “Have Paddy set up a car. Oh, and flowers. Lads love flowers too.”

“You love flowers,” Liam corrects, choking on a laugh.

Harry beams, dimples showing, green eyes turning into half-moons. “I do.”

Liam shakes his head, following Harry.

“It’s gonna be a magical night, Payno. Leave it all t’ me.”

“That worries me,” Liam sighs, still smiling, still listening to his heart beat like those manic drum solos Josh always gives during rehearsals.

It’s a beautiful feeling, he thinks.

 

++

 

“Two sugars for you, right?”

Liam blinks hard. He watches Tricia hover over two steamy cuppas, looking over her shoulder with that same effortless smile she always wears when he’s about.

(he can’t help it, thinking of the first time, the day after his birthday, driving up to London to properly introduce himself to Zayn’s parents and the sweat he couldn’t drag off his palms when he shook their hands)

(or how warm, indescribably gentle Zayn’s mum was with him ― the long and slow hug she drew him into after a dinner of lamb and chutney, Liam feeling full in more than just his belly)

He gives her a quick nod. His fingers keep drumming on the breakfast table, his eyes looking everywhere. He’s bricking it, definitely, but doing his best not to let it show.

(he’s shit at this bit, though)

It’s late, well after ten in the middle of the week, and he can see the worn edges around her eyes when she grins. Those knackered lines one gets after work. He imagines she’s well spent, her hair and clothes still carrying that lingering scent of a day in a halal kitchen in the city.

(he’s a bit embarrassed to admit he sniffed at her when she hugged him; something about the warmth and perpetual sweetness of a mum, he thinks)

Liam laughs to himself when she settles down at the table. She’s so tiny, smaller than Zayn, but her eyes and her grin are always so massive.

It’s comforting, really.

“You honestly could’ve went straight upstairs to see him. Y’ didn’t have to be sat with me, y’know,” she laughs, sliding him a mug.

He inhales it with a twitching grin. It’s spicy, the way she likes, a hint of sugar on his lower lip after he takes the first sip. He’ll never admit it to his mum, but Tricia makes a sick cuppa.

Absolutely smashing, he muses.

“Be a bit rude of me, wouldn’t it?” Liam smiles, lips cocked teasingly. “Honestly, I love having a chat with you. Doesn’t happen that often, no?”

She grins, shaking her head. “Always loved that about you. Such a proper gent. Your mum should be proud.”

“Reckon she’s a bit over how messy I can be,” Liam laughs.

Tricia rolls her eyes but there’s something insatiably fond in the way she holds her mouth. She takes a long sip, humming, reaching across the table to rub at his knuckles. It stops his drumming fingers and, absently, he already knows why.

“Bet she’s a bit worried about you, though,” she says, her voice going serious, “as you seem a bit pre-occupied, love? Loads on your mind?”

Liam sniffs, scratching at his stubble. His eyes lower and he watches the way she soothes her fingers over his hand. It reminds him of being home, of feeling safe.

“How’d you ― ”

“Oi, Liam, don’t be daft. A mum always knows.”

Liam bites on his bottom lip, inching out a grin. His chest feels warm, even if his heart is beating too fast and his head throbs. He’s so out of place and this weight keeps pressing down on his shoulders.

“Is it him?” Tricia asks, slow, careful.

Liam shakes his head, flinching, giving her a gentle nod because he feels the need to be honest.

“Not, like, in an awful way,” he whispers.

Tricia giggles, kicking at his ankle under the table. “Impossible for you two to have a proper row, hmm? Give it time, my love, it happens.”

Liam coughs into his tea, banking a laugh, slouching down. His cheeks heat up, his skin going red like the start of a supernova. It’s just odd, okay? Having a chat with his _boyfriend’s mum_ ―

_Wow_.

“I love him,” he says, quickly, trying to rip the band-aid off before it stings.

“I know,” Tricia replies, keeping her voice even. “It’s in the way you look at him, y’know. You can’t really hide those things, my love. Don’t know _if_ y’ should hide them, actually.”

Liam swallows, his mouth feeling cottony, his heart lurching up towards his throat. There’s sweat on his hands and he blinks up at Tricia, trying to keep his bottom lip still.

It’s a bit like having a hangover, feeling so wrung out and helpless, but she levels him with a genuine smile and Liam wants to crawl into himself.

“I’ve thought about ― I’m going to come out,” he stutters, trying to spit out the words before he swallows them again.

Before he re-thinks it, _again_.

It’s quiet, all but his ridiculously loud heart. Tricia nods, over and over, lifting her mug. She sips softly, humming. There’s not a spare emotion in her expression and he swears this is where he mucks it up.

This is where he finally tumbles out of control.

“You worry about him so much,” she says, gently, lowering her cup. Her lips quirk into a grin, the kind Liam associates with his mum and talks about love.

( _fuck_ )

“He’s _seventeen_ ,” Liam sputters but Tricia lifts a finger.

“Soon to be eighteen,” she warns, still smiling. “Out of all me children, Zayn is ― he’s just so bright. And aware. That silly boy keeps t’ himself and wears his heart on his sleeve, but it makes him no less prepared for the world than anyone else. In fact, I reckon he’s a bit stronger for it.”

Liam looks down again, refusing to acknowledge the trembles in his hands when he reaches for his mug.

“But what I choose to do means it’ll change things for him too. Doesn’t seem a bit fair,” he sighs.

“Not really a bit fair to leave a poor boy who’s madly in love with you to suffer while you sort out your affairs, either, Liam,” she chides, without a bit of heat in her voice, but it’s stern. It’s strong and still affectionate.

(like his mum, he thinks)

Liam bites his lip, hard. He wrinkles his face and stares down into his tea. The clock in the kitchen is not nearly as loud as Liam’s heartbeat but he still counts each of the seconds as they tick.

He doesn’t like the silence in-between.

“It’s life, Liam,” Tricia insists, her voice going soft. She rubs at his hand again, encouraging nudges until he wraps his fingers around his mug for a sip.

“He _deserves_ ― ”

Tricia clears her throat, huffing. “If for a second I thought you weren’t a good enough bloke for me boy, I’d never have let you around him,” she laughs. “Or let him sneak off when he thinks I’m not looking.”

Liam goes pale and then pink over that. He keeps his lips around his tea, trying not to look up. It’s embarrassing, feeling caught, but Tricia giggles affectionately, smacking his hand.

“I might not’ve thought this was a brilliant idea, at the start, ‘cause you’re older and, well, being a popstar,” Tricia exhales, tilting her head, “can be quite the lifestyle. Didn’t know if Zayn was quite ready for not having you about all the time.”

Liam swallows, looking up through his eyelashes.

“But he’s shown me better,” she finishes, pushing her cup aside. “And I think me son deserves t’ have a boyfriend who doesn’t have’ta worry about not being himself all the time. Life’s fantastic when you’re y’self, innit?”

There’s a sigh touching the edge of Liam’s lips but he swallows it for a smile instead. He, carefully, takes one of her hands in his and gives it a squeeze. A quiet little _‘thank you’_ he’s not been able to say.

She nods at him and he thinks she understands.

“Oh, _meri jaan_ , have you been prattling on to this poor boy for ages about our little Zaynie?” Yaser asks, nudging in the back door, looking weathered and knackered from a full day in the office.

Tricia blurts out a laugh, shaking her head. “He’s not so little, that one. Grown a foot since you’ve last seen him,” she giggles, pushing away from the table.

“Bullocks,” Yaser grins, gently pulling her into a hug.

It’s warm, Liam can tell, the kind that lasts a lifetime. The sort that leaves you a bit lightheaded afterwards because, well, _love does that_.

After an age, love still does that.

Yaser kisses her temple (and Liam doesn’t smirk at how often he does that same to Zayn) and keeps a heavy arm around her shoulders when he turns to Liam.

“Don’t let her bore you,” he laughs.

“She hardly does that,” Liam grins back, standing.

He extends his hand for Yaser’s but it’s a daft thought. Yaser hauls him in so quickly, a half-hug, strong and familiar with a clap on the back, a hand ruffling Liam’s barely-styled hair.

“Haven’t seen you enough lately, Liam,” he mumbles.

Liam feels pink all over, nodding, biting over his lip shyly. This is unfamiliar.

Feeling so attached to a family that’s not his own or one he’s practically adopted (like he has Harry’s and Niall’s and Louis’) after years of being on the road with the same three lads.

“G’on, you,” Tricia snickers, swatting at Liam, waving him in the direction of the stairs. “He’s probably up having a proper strop about his studies. Or sleeping.”

“He’s _always_ sleeping,” Yaser sighs, lips fit into a broad grin, the corners of his mouth quirked just like Zayn’s.

Liam nods, shoving his hands into the pockets of his joggers, turning on his heels.

“And Liam?” Yaser calls, Liam freezing, shoulders going tight. “We c’n hear you. Mind y’self.”

“Oi, love, stop it. You’ll embarrass the lad,” Tricia cackles and Yaser gives a healthy laugh that echoes down the hall.

Liam drags his feet, head down, cheeks burning like a wild bonfire, and his heart crawling back down into his chest.

 

++

 

There’s something cozy about Zayn’s bedroom.

Honestly, it reminds Liam of Wolverhampton and silly bunny curtains and the tiny space he’d called a room for too many years before the band started up.

He hangs in the doorway for a moment, dragging his eyes over how the shadows outside smear purple all over the room. Zayn’s iPad shines a bluish glow from the nightstand and the pale walls look almost silver now. There’s a _Scarface_ poster over the bed, a collection of silly toys on the desk, a mess of comic books and sketchpads over the floor and that jumper Zayn stole from him hanging off the chair.

It feels like home.

Like a place to crawl into and feel _normal_ , Liam thinks.

He toes off his boots, padding over the floor, snuggling down onto the bed where Zayn’s curled up, buried under the duvet like a hibernating cub.

It’s only a twin, hardly enough space for both of them, but Liam makes himself fit.

“G’away,” Zayn mumbles, sounding put out, even if he’s shifting around until he’s closer.

He presses his head to Liam’s chest, draping a lazy leg over Liam’s hips, tossing an arm across Liam’s belly.

Liam’s lips cock into a grin. He curves an arm around Zayn, pulling him in, pressing his smile into the beanie covering Zayn’s hair.

“Y’ smell like Loki,” Zayn mutters.

Liam snorts, shaking with it. His dry lips brush Zayn’s forehead before he says, “Spent the whole day with him, laying about in bed. The bugger wouldn’t leave me be.”

“Least someone loves you,” Zayn huffs and Liam can imagine the pout on his lips even though he can’t see it in the dark.

Liam sighs softly, smoothing his fingers over Zayn’s cheek. It’s red and wrinkled from where he had it pressed to a pillow, the heat incredible against Liam’s cold fingers.

“D’you hate me?”

“A bit,” Zayn exhales, snuggling his face further into Liam’s chest. “Not really. ‘m _trying_ , though. Almost had it, you dick, but y’ had to go and come around.”

Liam laughs, wheezes mostly, but he thinks Zayn smiles at the noise.

“Couldn’t help it.”

“Cause you missed me?” Zayn wonders.

“Because you’re an absolute pain in my arse but I don’t think about anything but you,” Liam tells him, sneaking a few fingers under Zayn’s beanie to feel the length of his hair.

“That’s fair,” Zayn yawns.

Liam hums, smoothing his spare hand over Zayn’s spine, across the curve of his bum. He keeps it there, letting his thumb play under the hem of Zayn’s shirt to the dimples at the bottom of his spine.

“I’ve to ask you something,” he mumbles, sucking in his lower lip.

(he swears he’s stronger than this and he’s put up with a hundred arenas stuffed with people watching him and _Simon Cowell_ and Louis’ Tomlinson when he hasn’t had a proper shag in weeks, so he should be able to do this but ― )

Liam swallows, pinching his lip with his teeth.

Zayn breathes even and quietly but his heart rattles off nervous beats where it’s pressed to Liam’s ribs.

“Would you be terribly put out if I needed a date to this fancy dance in a few days?” Liam asks, slow and careful.

He thinks Zayn stops breathing. Or he’s thinking. He’s not moving and Liam’s certain he’s done enough. He’s wrecked this thing between them and there’s no repairing it but ―

“Liam,” Zayn starts, his voice hushed and hoarse from sleep, “don’t this for ― ”

Liam coughs, sputters a laugh because he’s hysterical.

He’s fucking going _mental_ over it all and ―

“It’s for me,” he swears, trying to control the wobble in his voice. “I’m tired, babe. Just so bloody knackered. I’ve gone back and forth over it. ‘m tired of being anything but the idiot who’s a bit gone over you, alright?”

Zayn stays quiet, the slick sound of his tongue dragging over his lips a tad louder than Liam’s outrageous breathing.

“A bit gone?” Zayn inquires.

Liam exhales loudly and his mouth inches into a crooked grin.

“So bloody gone over you,” he admits, squeezing at Zayn’s bum. “Couldn’t get you out of me head, Z. But it’s not why I wanna do this.”

“Why?” Zayn asks, curious, tipping his head back.

Long eyelashes separate and the blue of the iPad make Zayn’s eyes almost mint in the dark. The color of a leaf just before autumn, Liam thinks.

He swallows around a thick lump in his throat. “Cause I’m happiest when I’m _me_ ,” he says, a shallow breath chasing his words. “And I’ve never been more meself around anyone than I am with the lads. Or me family.”

A sharp breath, he’s not sure from whom, fills the space before he adds, “And _you_ , boy wonder.”

Even in the purple shadows, Liam recognizes those pink lips, wet and shiny, stretching into one of those fond smiles. One that makes Zayn’s eyes crinkle up and his eyebrows pull close and his cheeks fatten up.

It’s uncanny.

Zayn gnaws at his lip for a moment, his grin lowering, his face sullen. It’s brief, but Liam catches it.

“Not gonna change your mind, then?”

It’s a sour taste. He’s helpless to the way his heart curls around itself and his lungs pull tight, but it’s expected.

He owes Zayn more.

His fingers draw back, climbing up the knobs of Zayn’s spine, fitting between them to twist around Zayn’s fingers lying over Liam’s sternum. He clears his throat, craning his neck to peck a kiss at Zayn’s forehead.

“I’m an idiot,” he says, low and even, “and a right arse, sometimes ― “

Zayn snorts, sighs a _‘yeah’_ that Liam won’t argue with.

“ ― but I’ve sorted meself out, mostly,” he grins and waits for those crinkles around Zayn’s eyes before he adds, “and I think it’d be sick if I could be the bloke on your arm, in front of all your classmates, to show them how proper cool me boyfriend is.”

For a moment (and it’s just a moment, just a breath), Liam feels loose.

He feels like his heart is shoved into place and that burn at the bottom of his belly is tolerable and he can breathe.

Zayn looks flushed in the dark and he smiles so dopily that Liam thinks, yeah, it could be for a lifetime.

“Having a stay over?” Zayn asks, by way a response, nuzzling his nose into Liam’s chest.

“Long as your parents won’t murder me,” Liam giggles, pulling the duvet up and around them.

Zayn gives a lazy shrug. “Me baba won’t,” he mumbles into Liam’s chest, “but me mum is pretty vicious, man. She might drop you at the bottom of the Thames if y’ get me all stroppy again.”

Liam sighs, softly, listening to Zayn’s breaths start to even out.

Honestly, he thinks Zayn’s right. Mums are a bit wonderful like that.

 

++

 

Liam watches the night wink off the tinted windows of the car. The sky is a heavy burnt ash, hiding most of the stars but he doesn’t mind. It’s just a distraction. It keeps him grounded.

Paddy’s kept the music on this low, soft hum, something by Fall Out Boy he’s certain he’s heard a hundred times but doesn’t instantly recognize.

He hums along, anyway, smiling, tilting his head.

Zayn looks smart in this slim, charcoal Gucci suit Caroline tugged off a rack in her collection. His hair is tousled into a cleverly soft quiff. There’s a skinny tie, his pressed white shirt barely hiding all the rosy blush riding down his cheeks, all the way to his neck.

He keeps bouncing his leg. Not to the music, Liam observes. A ciggy is tucked between his chapped lips and he keeps fiddling with his lighter, flicking the flame but never lighting up.

It’s just a habit. A fail safe, Liam muses.

Zayn looks ready to crawl out of his own skin.

Liam plucks the ciggy from Zayn’s lips with a fond smile. Zayn is still that bloke from a Chinese takeaway in the middle of an oversized city. He’s still helplessly shy under all that cigarette cool.

(he misses the charcoal on Zayn’s fingers and the way he bites his lip, the distant look he’d give everyone and everything just to keep the attention off of him)

“First thought?” Liam asks, a grin teasing at his lips. He drags his fingers over Zayn’s jaw, affection filling his bones when Zayn turns his head.

He sighs, still bouncing his leg.

“This is fucking mad.”

Liam blurts out a laugh, nodding. He soothes a hand over Zayn’s thigh, giving it a soft squeeze, trying to stop the nervous jiggling.

Zayn flinches and starts biting his lip, instead. Just a habit he’ll never break.

“Pretty _sick_ , though, innit?” Liam wonders, his lips lifting, his smile stretching into his cheeks.

Zayn looks thoughtful for a beat, dragging sweaty hands over his trousers, finally easing into a smile. It’s massive, wrinkling his nose, producing tiny crinkles around the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I can’t believe that, like ― it’s proper cool, babe.”

Liam snorts, shuffling closer.

“The lads won’t be cross about it?” Zayn asks, the car slowing.

Liam shakes his head, feeling fond, pulling up his cuff to check his watch. “Not that lot. They’re quite chuffed about this. Want pictures, too.”

Zayn squeaks out a noise, a tinny laugh, blush thick over his face. He wrinkles his brow, wondering, “And your family?”

Liam licks out a grin. “ _Everyone_ wants this, boy wonder. For us. For me, too.”

It could be his words, or the heat of his palm on Zayn’s thigh, but it draws an affectionate smile from Zayn’s lips. His eyes drag down and one of his hands, sweaty palms and long fingers, covers Liam’s. Fingers slotting into place.

“Sure about this?” Liam inquires, his voice going soft, careful.

Zayn raises his eyebrows, tiny wrinkles in his forehead.

Liam smirks. “You’re gonna be huge tomorrow,” he explains. “All over the papers. In all the trashy rags, man. Gonna be massive, y’know?”

Zayn swallows, wiggling his eyebrows. “Being _Liam Payne’s boyfriend_?” he teases.

“Could do worse,” Liam taunts, leaning in.

Zayn sputters, smooths a hand over Liam’s cheek. “Think people will be okay with it?”

He’s gone over it enough times in his head. Too many times. Hasn’t had a proper night of sleep and all of those nerves churning in his stomach for days have finally started to fizz out. Honestly, he doesn’t really give a shit anymore.

“They can all bugger off,” he says, smug, shrugging carelessly.

Zayn smirks, taking in his bottom lip with his teeth, squeezing his fingers around Liam’s. “It’s gonna be awful,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “Hope they don’t make any blogs about me or summat. My life’s boring. I’m honestly so dull, man.”

“Dunno,” Liam says, keeping his voice soft, “S’been pretty ace being Zayn Malik’s boyfriend, I reckon. I think you’re interesting.”

“You’re an idiot,” Zayn says, fondly.

Liam doesn’t argue him on that, pushing in quick and easy, pressing something like a kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth.

He feels the car stop, everything going quiet, the music dying off. Paddy turns in the driver’s seat, giving them a once over. “Ready?”

Liam swallows and watches Zayn flinch, for a second, before he settles into a smile, a happy nod.

There’s a few photographers, from the school, snapping off pictures. An actual red carpet for all the students to walk up, a cheaply classy looking set up for a high school formal, he thinks. Students posing and lads taking the piss out of each other, girls fretting over their dresses.

It feels weird. Almost like taking a small step back, trying to remember being seventeen. Trying to feel normal, even if most of the kids made jokes at him, the poor sod who didn’t make it on X Factor.

There’s a tightness in his throat that he tries to swallow around before he feels how soft Zayn’s hand is in his.

It feels so soothing, so appropriate now. For all the world to stare at.

He leads Zayn up the red carpet, smiling big, laughing at how sweaty Zayn’s hand is and how large his eyes get. The other students are starting to notice, he can tell. Whispering to each other, making a fuss. Shrieking girls and a few of the blokes gaping, gone speechless.

They snap off photos with their phones, trying to be discreet but Liam’s too clever for it. He tugs Zayn closer, smiling, waving at a few of the students. There’s a group of lads catcalling at them and Liam knows they’re Zayn’s mates ( _Ant and Danny_ , Liam supposes, a few others gathering up behind them) when Zayn groans quietly.

Liam keeps Zayn’s hand in his, fingers linked.

He grins at it all and Zayn turns dopey, blushing like mad. It’s comical and Liam leans down to press a kiss to Zayn’s temple.

“See,” he grins, “Not so bad being Zayn Malik’s boyfriend.”

Zayn sighs, abashed, shaking his head. He stays close, posing with Liam, giving each flash a wider smile.

“This is gonna me bad, innit?” he hisses.

Liam nods slowly. He grips Zayn’s hand firmer, cocking his head. “But it’s sort of worth, hmm? Anything to be next t’ you, _jaan_.”

There’s so much noise around them but Liam can hear Zayn go quiet. Shocked. He blinks rapidly at Liam, confused.

A huff of laughter drags over Liam’s lips. “Caught me,” he says, letting out a deep breath. “Been studying up on some things. Wanted t’ like, well. Trying to learn a bit of Urdu. And about, y’know, things about _you_. Proper boyfriend stuff, okay?”

He studies Zayn’s face, how quickly it goes warm and fond. How easily Zayn’s shoulders relax and he cuddles in. Cheeks flushed, his tongue wetting his lips, his eyes going squinty like he’s overwhelmed.

“Thanks,” he whispers, pushing up on his feet, pecking at Liam’s lips, shyly.

Liam fumbles out a grin. He ignores all the shouts and flashes.

If he’s being honest, Zayn’s all that matters on a night like this.

 

++

 

**@Real_Liam_Payne:** _‘Zayns asleep on my shoulder aww bless lol’_

 

++

 

Zayn’s house is a cozy space Liam thinks he could ( _he has_ , over and over) fall in love with. The scent of his mum’s cooking in the kitchen, Waliyha humming some Adele tune in the hallway, Doniya shouting at Safaa about stealing her hairbrush.

Zayn’s spine pressed against Liam’s chest and Liam wrapping a lazy arm around Zayn’s skinny frame. The telly muted, some silly rerun of _Say Yes to the Dress_ they haven’t paid any attention to. Snow piled outside the windows and this dreamy warmth inside.

This quiet comfort, away from the world.

“This good?” Liam wonders.

Zayn leans his head back, resting it on Liam’s shoulder, grinning. “Hmm?”

“For your birthday? Just us, like, chillin’, right?”

Those lips, candy pink and soft, quirk high on Zayn’s face. “Yeah, s’good,” he replies.

Liam nods, nuzzling his nose into Zayn’s soft, flat hair.

His phone has been buzzing for days. Too many notifications, calls from people looking for an interview, his mum checking in. He ignores them all (except his mum, of course) but, occasionally, he pulls up his Twitter feed ―

**_#LiamandZayn_ **

**_#WeSupportYouLiam_ **

**_#ZaynisaBabe_ **

He licks at his smile, shaking his head. It’s been a constant string of trends: his name or Zayn’s or both. He doesn’t thumb through Tumblr, though Zayn creeps on from time to time. Finds blogs about them. Makes a big show of how popular he’s become, like.

Like he’s just so damn _proud_ to have Liam. Letting the whole world get a peek.

It’s silly, innit? How warm his chest has been for days, how he can’t really stop smiling. The way his boys tweet their support, Louis having a go at anything negative said about Liam or Zayn.

Honestly, it’s just, well, _incredible_.

(and he’s so _overwhelmed_ by it all ― by the lads, the fans, just by the way Zayn wants to hold his hand even when they’re not out in public; just because _he can_ now)

“Sick birthday,” Zayn laughs, stealing Liam’s phone.

He angles the camera for a selfie that Liam sneaks into and he doesn’t complain, not once, when Zayn uploads it to Liam’s Instagram, rolling his eyes at the absolutely ridiculous caption:

**_‘bestttt boyfriend on his birthdayyy! x’_ **

“I don’t write like that,” he huffs.

Zayn snorts, queueing up Candy Crush. “You _do_. It’s horrible. You have no grammar skills, babe.”

“Dick,” Liam hisses, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s cheek.

“Oi! Mum, they’re snogging again,” Doniya whines from the entryway, pressing out a taunting smirk when Zayn scowls.

“Doni, give me an extra hand with his cake. And grab your sisters to help set the table,” his mum hums from the kitchen, messing about with pots, mumbling something about burning the samosas and nearly ruining the chutney.

Doniya stomps off, sticking her tongue out at them, and Liam swears it feels so familiar.

It feels like _family_ and he feels warm, again.

Dizzy with the thought of being apart of this.

Zayn hums, giddy, snuggling his back to Liam’s chest. It settles into Liam’s skin, being here, feeling the weight finally lift.

He nuzzles his mouth to Zayn’s ear, whispering _‘I love you, boy wonder’_ over and over because, today, he knows he really was the lucky one at that tiny Chinese takeaway ages ago.

And Liam feels like all of the daft rules the world hung over him finally slip away.

On this couch, cuddled with his boy wonder, he feels like himself, for once.

It’s his first and only thought.

 

FIN.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the ending was decent. I was struggling a bit with it. Other than that, thanks for taking the time to read this! I know, _again_ , not everyone will enjoy it but it was nice to write in this 'verse again.
> 
> Thanks for all the love, kudos, comments, hits, and encouragement I get on here/tumblr. You all are a bunch of stars... I wish I could create constellations on my palms with each of you! x


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